


So Long As The Music Plays

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aaaaand now we're Post Adamant, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, Established M!Hawke/Fenris, Established Relationship, Exile, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's an Andrastian Qunari!, M/M, Post Halamshiral Pre Adamant, Pre-Trespasser, Red Lyrium, Skyhold, Tags will come as they come, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: While investigating the red lyrium mines in Emprise du Lion, the Inquisitor becomes infected and fights against the very cause  he's given his life to, putting himself, the Inquisition, and his newfound relationship in peril. Even if the Inquisition has given thought as to how they would survive without their leader, it has never crossed their minds on how to survive him.





	1. Emprise du Lion

“Why on Thedas is it always so cold here?” Dorian sniffed, adding on another layer to his robe. Before him, the party was mostly milling about in the camp. The snow had melted or otherwise been trampled beneath feet, causing a little ring of dry earth around the area. In the middle, a fire roared as Dorian parsed over a few Orlesian texts. There was a dictionary at his side. Adaar was _pretty_ certain that he heard a dragon roaring in the distance, despite the party’s insistence that it was just wind. Iron Bull was on his side, though.

 

Blackwall looked up from what he was carving and quipped, “That’s Orlais for you. Surely Tevinter gets just as cold?”

 

“Yes, but we tend not to make a game of camping in the wilderness unless you’d _like_ to tempt the wandering hordes of Qunari.” Looking up at the Inquisitor, Dorian gave an apologetic wince. Adaar gave a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture. “Not entirely so bad, I suppose. Certainly pretty.”

 

“In its glory days, it was stunning,” Solas mentioned wistfully against them, staring out in the distance while clutching his staff. Even he had managed to put on a pair of leather boots after Adaar’s constant hounding of him. _Elves could get frostbite, too._ “I’ve seen signs of it in the Fade. A true tragedy.”

 

Dorian and Solas usually got along fairly well in their understanding of magic, but Adaar saw on Dorian’s face that he really wasn’t having it today. Fade-talk was usually where Solas lost Dorian, and Solas had been telling stories nearly constantly since they’d set up camp. Clearing his throat, Adaar waved everyone else over. It was time to start the day.

 

“Alright, everyone,” he got out as they all surrounded the make-shift war table. “Apparently, these red lyrium mines are pretty expansive, so we’re going to have to split everyone up. Groups of three, make sure you’ve got a mage.”

 

“It’s so _nice_ to feel wanted.” Adaar didn’t want to give Dorian the satisfaction of a successful quip, but he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

 

“And someone who knows how to pick locks, just in case we run into some prisoners. Just fine and eradicate as much of the mine – and the red templars. Beyond that,” Adaar rolled his knuckles, “It’s your own discretion. Just don’t blow anything up. That’s why you’re with _me,_ Sera.”

 

“Piss.”

 

“Cassandra and Dorian, too.” Underneath Adaar’s notice, there was a shared look of _uh-huh, of course he’s taking Dorian again._ What Adaar did notice was Dorian’s cat-who-caught-the-canary smile, to which he raised an eyebrow. “Other teams are Cole, Vivienne, and Blackwall, and the last is Varric, Bull, and Solas. Everyone good?”

 

Vivienne and Blackwall shared a look of mutual distaste, and Varric and Bull shared a thumbs-up. After gathering their supplies together, the three teams set out.

 

–

 

All of the team had some idea at that point, Dorian figured, but Sera and Cassandra especially _knew._ Adaar was fond of bringing them along. Sera was probably more pleased about it than Cassandra was, and yet, Dorian felt _far_ more fatigued when it got brought up around Sera.

 

“So are you two living together now, or what?”

 

Dorian aged every year he heard her voice. “I don’t think the Inquisition’s coffers are dire enough that we have to start sharing quarters. Or are you trying to pair up with Vivienne?”

 

Sera’s nose wrinkled at him. “Yeah, as if. I’d sooner bunk with Bull.”

 

“ _Really?_ But he _smells.”_

 

“I’d rather that than Vivienne being all magey and snooty and ‘no cookies in the bunk’ at me. Least I can bring snacks in with Bull.”

 

Dorian smiled, glancing ahead to see Adaar and Cassandra walking together. This was not an unusual walking formation – hand-to-hand fighters up front, ranged fighters in the back until they were absolutely certain there was no danger. He didn’t mind it so much. Good view. And when the fighting started, he wanted to be as far from Adaar’s impressive axe as possible. Damn thing had _reach._

 

They were talking quietly. Occasionally, Adaar’s hand up went to tug at his horn. Dorian noticed he did that – at first it had been perplexing, but he rationalized it as simple fidgeting. Not to mention it gave a fairly nice view of his muscled arm whenever he did it.

 

They had separated from the other teams a few hours ago, each taking a different direction across the snowy landscape. Travelling as a massive team would hurt everyone, and frankly, Dorian liked this breakup the best. He trusted everyone else with his life, but Maker above, were there loudmouths in the group. He would know, he was one of them.

 

“Dorian,” Cassandra called out to him. “Would it be possible for you to detect a specific school of magic?”

 

“Depends on where. If you’re wanting me to do it near the mines, probably not. It’s all magic. Try telling me to find one blue bead in Lake Calenhad; it’d be easier.”

 

There was a scattered grumbling between the two of them before Sera verbalized Dorian’s question: “Oi, what are you two going on about?

 

Turning towards them, Adaar’s lip twitched. “We got a missive from Leliana just before we got here. Reason to believe that Samson might still be in the area.”

 

 _Oh._ That was news. “If we could get rid of him, that would be a major blow to Corypheus.”

 

“It would be, but … “ The tugging on his horns, again. “We don’t know a lot about red lyrium, especially not in this quantity. I just want everyone to stay alert. No rushing in until we have an idea of what’s going on.” The anxiety in Adaar’s voice made the hairs on the back of Dorian’s neck rise.

 

Sometimes Dorian wondered, off-handedly, if Adaar now restrained himself from his battles because of their … complicated _thing_ they had going. Did Adaar ever try to protect him, for fear of losing him? Did he ever not fight as hard as he should have, with the idea that he had someone who’d be sorely put out if he ended up dying?

 

Even of his mind wandered with romantic possibilities, he knew he didn’t want that to be the case. They had a very important mission to complete, all of them, and they couldn’t be distracted by emotional sensibilities. Still, the worry in Adaar’s eyes when the battle cleared up and he didn’t know where Dorian was … it instilled in him an emotion that he hadn’t ever felt, before.

 

Still, Dorian knew that Adaar would never hold back in battle, if it came down to it. That was what was so enticing about him. Adaar fought with every hair he had on him, pushed himself to the very limits, every time. He wasn’t about to let any of his team die for him if he were still alive, and brave and a good leader that he was, it also had the side effect of making Dorian swoon in the most undignified way. Inwardly.

 

He was a very lucky man.

 

“Of course, trusted leader. Kid gloves on,” he announced, turning around to view the entrance to the mines.

 

Tally-ho.

 

–

_The light was filtering in through the Inquisitor’s curtains, stirring up little dust motes in the Inquisitor’s room. Despite it being late morning, the room itself was still dim. There was a chill coming in from outside. Below them, a few feet below, Dorian could hear murmur and movement. Construction, likely. Dorian stretched a little in the bed, pushing himself up to his elbows and marveling at how well-rested he was._

_He had slept in._

_He had never slept in. Shock gripped him._

_This was new, what he had with Adaar. The pessimistic feeling of being the Inquisitor’s casual plaything (despite Adaar’s reassurances otherwise) had passed, replaced with the despair that Adaar_ was _taking this seriously and Dorian had no idea how to conduct himself._

_Sleeping over hadn’t been something that Dorian considered. He always mentioned that work had to be done, which was true, and left Adaar’s quarters. Sleeping together, taken literally, had seemed intimate and emotionally open in a way that made Dorian want to pitch himself over the ramparts._

_Last night, though, he had been exhausted after coming back from the Fallow Mire. He knew that he should have gotten back to the library, but he’d just been so tired, and Adaar was so warm … the Qunari had fallen asleep first, and Dorian had told himself that he’d just rest his eyes and get up in a few minutes. He had not._

_Adaar shifted a little, giving a tiny stretch. When the light fell on his face, he scrunched his eyebrows and turned to his side. He swung an arm over the bed, over Dorian’s torso and pulling him close. How aware of his movements the man was, Dorian didn’t know._

_Well, that ruined any opportunity for sneaking out. ‘What do they feed you, Maker above,’ he grunted, but it was all bluff for a man who wasn’t even awake to hear it. It felt … nice, and Dorian found himself not wanting to leave. His arm went to circle around Adaar’s lower back. Adaar’s chest against his, sleeping peacefully against his side, like there wasn’t a giant rift in the sky and there was no two people more ill-suited at birth to be together._

_To save himself from suffocating against Adaar’s chest, Dorian pulled himself up to let his head rest against his lover’s collarbone. In his arms, he felt Adaar gave a small, sleepy grunt. ‘Go back to sleep, Amatus,’ he sighed out, shutting his own eyes. Maybe this was something he could get used to._


	2. Red Lyrium Rage

“How on _Thedas_ did we lose a Qunari!” Dorian had to shout above the din. Red templars laid scattered, here and there, but the fighting was by no means over. Not only were there red templars still giving it a valiant shot, he spotted Cole still trying to assist the prisoners somewhere safe. He was half-pressed against Varric as he fought, the dwarf attempting to fix a jam in his equipment. “He’s a head taller than everyone but Bull!”

 

Varric let out a triumphant grunt as he fixed Bianca, letting a few bolts fly at the templars chasing after Cole and the prisoners. “The Inquisitor knows what he’s doing, Sparkler, don’t worry.”

 

At a time, Adaar had been there, the centerpiece of any battle. He had a particular talent for pissing people off and drawing them to him and his axe. Bull had been going toe-to-toe with the tall monstrosity towards the edge of the battle, otherwise Dorian was sure that he’d spy them fighting together. It was generally a bad combination – two grown Qunari, swinging axes about.

 

Adaar had then vanished, seemingly disappearing while the thick of the templars wormed their way out. Dorian and Solas had created a barrier to help the prisoners flee. Wouldn’t do to have a few people die from their spells or Sera’s arrows. He figured that was when, with his back to the crowd, he’d lost sight of their leader.

 

When they’d gotten to the mine, it shocked even Dorian. Red lyrium was everywhere. So much worse than they expected. Varric had gone pale when they’d first come upon it. This was more than a few shards in some noble’s lockbox. This was going to be a lot harder to stop than previously anticipated. Studies would have to be done. As soon as they found the main act of this little event, Dorian was intent to get started on it.

 

Soon, through grit and blood, the fog of battle cleared up. Everyone looked at one another. It was strange how lost everyone appeared without Adaar’s _rousing_ post-battle compliments. Finally, Cassandra stepped up.

 

“The Inquisitor chased some men down, further into the mines,” Cassandra announced, sheathing her sword. Vivienne’s hand was on Blackwall’s back. Dorian almost raised his brows at the show of affection before he saw a cut slowly start disappearing from the older man’s face. Blackwall let out a grunt of appreciation. “Told us all to hold the line.”

 

“Well. Line’s held, now let’s go get our Inquisitor,” Sera called out from a few feet away, pulling arrows out of the armor of red templars. Dorian couldn’t help but agree.

 

–

 

In the depths of the mine, Adaar was pretty sure his limbs were going to be pulled from his body. The little opening was lit only by the dim glow of red lyrium around him, although he hardly had the time to appreciate the scenery. Some _shitty spell_ was keeping him pinned to the floor like an ant. Adaar already had no patience for blood magic. There had been too many contracts taken by his mercenary group that appeared innocent enough, only for some mage to pull blood magic out of his ass and drop a few Qunari.  

 

Adaar felt the muscles in his neck straining as he tried to look up, jaw trembling with the effort of it all. In so doing, he locked eyes with the very man that they’d tracked down. Samson, former Templar and current asshole lackey.

 

“We didn’t think it would be this easy, if we’re being honest. Lead the Inquisitor into the mines, alone? I guess it’s true what they say about Qunari. Sacrified your brains for horns. Dangle a carrot and they’ll come.”

 

Adaar thought his head would look pretty good on the war table.

 

Usually, he’d have a clever retort to anyone who jabbed at his race. Adaar had heard enough of them, especially at Halamshiral. Every insult in the book had been lobbed his way, at one point or another.

 

 Now, though, Adaar felt like he could barely look up, much less think of something clever to say. His brain was just about to give up, give in to the tempting darkness and wait for death on the floor like a scared farm animal.

 

‘He was a good man once’, his arse. If he lived through this, he was going to be sharing words with Commander Cullen.

 

Somehow, the magic got worse. It felt like iron bars were pushing him against the floor, digging into his skin. He could no longer hold his head up. What made it worse was his axe, the handle still clutched in his fingers. Adaar wheezed, feeling like he was trying to breathe through a handkerchief.

 

Difficulties with breathing given, it was surprising that Adaar had enough energy to yell out when Samson yanked his head up by his arm. The greasy, pockmarked man was just a few inches from his face. “But your friends are out there, aren’t they? Powerful people. You die, they’ll just be inspired to work harder towards your doomed cause. I see an easy solution out of this, don’t you?”

 

“Don’t – “ Adaar could only snarl out one syllable before his breath left him in a frothy huff. There was a searing pain at his head to accompany everything else, and really, he doubt he’d be changing Samson’s plan at this point. His eyes rolled around towards the entrance of the mine.

 

_Dorian,_ he begged inwardly. _Cassandra. Sera. Bull. Anyone, please._

 

The last conscious, willful act he was aware of was Samson shoving a vial past his teeth and letting something red down his throat.

 

Templars drank this stuff? For _kicks?_ Instinctually, Adaar gagged as his mouth was held shut and he looked up at Samson. _How do you live? How did you drink this and think you were on the good side?_

 

It burned like fire, worse than any ale he’d ever had, and Adaar had too many memories of drinking terrible ale around a fire.  It didn’t stop after it went down, feeling it burn right down to his gut, and he tried to pull against his bindings as a last, animalistic attempt to escape.

 

Everything went dark.

 

When he came to, he felt alone.

 

Whatever spell was binding him, it was gone. He was on his back, axe laying on his chest. Compared to the previous binding spell, it felt no heavier than a feather. That was saying something – he’d pinned several of his friends to the ground by lying his axe on them.

 

The music.

 

It wasn’t good music. It was discordant, ripping through his mind. He couldn’t even pick down an instrument, moreso … feelings. Nails on a chalkboard, a dying horse, the time his horn had gone _grinding_ down the side of a mountain –

 

He couldn’t take it. It overtook all other senses. Certainly, he couldn’t hear, but he could also barely see, smell, _feel._

 

Underneath his notice, a dozen pairs of boots jogged into the room. Every noise pounded against his ears uselessly underneath the din of music and _pain._ When he stared around, he was able to comprehend, blearily, someone in front of him. Touching his shoulder, maybe. It burned like fire and he yanked his shoulder back instinctively. Cassandra?

 

She said something. He couldn’t hear it. Instead, he was rewarded with the song growing _louder,_ a crack of lightning amidst all the thunder.

 

“ _Stop,”_ he wheezed out, trying to get the point across. It was too much noise, all in his head like a drum. Someone touched him – again, Casssandra. He’d spent a lot of time with her, they were friends, they talked about nearly everything, both being the (mostly) devout Andrastians that they were. And yet, when she touched him, he had to check to make sure she hadn’t set him on fire. “ _Please,”_ he begged again.

 

The noise she made again sent him reeling, and after that, he found that he was in too much pain to even recognize her. She just kept talking – there were others, too, approaching in on him, crowding him, and he didn’t even know the pain could get more intense.

 

Something changed. Adaar got angry. _Furious._ And with that, seeking a little bit of peace from the noise, Adaar lost the rest of his mind.

 

He picked up his axe and stood, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down him as he ached for breath in front of his friends. They wouldn’t stop _talking_ at him, and each word pounded into his head. Who were these people, causing him such pain? Did they think they could hurt him and get away with it? _Him?_

 

He felt less than human, at that moment. A predator defending itself. Above the music, insults from Halamshiral came back at him, what people whispered at him when they thought he couldn’t hear – _oxman, ogre, dragonman_ all tossed at him, and for a second, he _felt_ it.

 

Adaar _roared._

 

–

 

“Uh, I think our Inquisitor’s not in his right mind,” Varric commented, lowering his crossbow. They had all been expecting the worst. Deeper in the mine, they had heard _nothing._ No fighting, no talking, no words.

 

Never mind how much power it took to kidnap a Qunari, Adaar and his axe were something else. Damn thing was heavy and the guy who carried it was heavier. He had seen people take Adaar down before, emphasis on _people_ with the footnote being _more than twenty._

 

Seeing Adaar raise his weapon above Cassandra’s head was … surreal. There was a red haze around his head, and Varric got distinct flashbacks to seeing Bartrand clutching at his idol. Okay, maybe Varric didn’t _like_ the distinguished Seeker all that much, but that didn’t mean he wanted her head to be split in two.

 

Dimly, he was aware of Blackwall behind him going, “Woah, Inquisitor, let’s – “

 

As the hammer was hefted into the air, Varric raised his crossbow in response before someone else rushed in.

 

_Thump._

 

The sound that got sent out into space when Iron Bull’s chest thumped into the Inquisitor’s was alarming. They were there, two large angry Qunari, but it got Adaar to drop his weapon. What the hell … ?

 

“Why don’t we just _calm down,_ boss _?”_ Iron Bull growled in the least calm voice that Varric had ever heard, but he kept his crossbow raised regardless. Adaar didn’t even flicker in recognition. Next to him, he heard Sera mutter, “Right, now’s not the time to go loony, ‘quisitor.”

 

Iron Bull, objectively speaking, was stronger than Adaar. They’d had a contest once. Adaar had tired at the end and had lost, dignity shattered. The entire night was fuzzy due to Bull’s insistence on buying everyone drinks to celebrate.

 

_‘People are going to see, you lunatic,’ Dorian informed him, giving his shoulder a light shove in response to the Qunari’s adoring look. He was drunk. Everyone in the damn tavern was drunk, so he didn’t feel too worried about his behavior. In front of him, the Inquisitor, the Leader of the Inquisition, was leaning close to him. Nursing his wounded pride, no doubt, while Iron Bull was celebrating with a crowd of men and women in the corner. ‘Looking at me like that. What will people think?’_

_‘That I’m moping on your shoulder about losing.’ Adaar told him, not missing a beat. He looked genuinely put out, the poor thing._

_‘It was a strength contest. What does it matter? You’re the leader, you’ve won whatever pissing contest you can devise based on that fact alone.’_

_‘It’s a Qunari thing, being strong. It means a lot to us.’ Adaar drained his tankard and sat on his stool, arms placed on the bar as he stared forward somberly. Dorian knew he held no ill will towards the contest champion (the hearty congratulations he’d given and the drinks he had personally bought for Bull proved that), but drinking always dampened Adaar’s spirits._

_Dorian sighed, turning to face the bar with him. ‘That may be. But, for the record, you could single-handedly smash the skull of anyone else here.’_

_‘You’re just trying to make me feel better.’_

_‘Is it working?’ Dorian reached over, gingerly feeling Adaar’s bicep. At this point in their thing, he had been_ very _clear with how much he admired the Inquisitor’s physique. Adaar, sighing, reached up and placed his hand on Dorian’s warmly. ‘Besides, you will notice that I’m still here, despite you losing your dignity.’_

_Adaar snorted, and turned to face him. He leaned forward, probably with the intent to peck Dorian on the nose. The motion was too much for his inebriated state, however. Falling off his stool, Adaar fell with a thump on the ground, unintentionally dragging his lover with him._

That Adaar was miles away.

 

Adaar growled again, putting his hands on Bull’s shoulders. He managed to summon just enough strength to push Bull away, and Varric wondered what he was doing, before –

 

Adaar put his head down and charged him.

 

It wouldn’t have been fatal, if it weren’t for the horns.

 

The sound it made was … sickening, given the situation. He heard Blackwall murmur, “Andraste’s arse,” and the entire mood in the room changed.

 

Huffing, Adaar ripped his head away from the gaping wound on Bull’s abdomen, and Bull staggered backward. To Varric’s horror, a bit of blood dripped from his mouth as he fell back on his ass. Bull looked like he was in shock, barely able to do more than give a rattling breath. Varric, accustomed to all kinds of violence, had to look away from his friend if he was going to do this.

 

Suddenly, Solas and Vivienne were by him, hands emitting a green glow. Usually, Bull refused any sort of magic healing, but there, on the ground, he couldn’t even get the energy up to reject it.

 

Everyone looked at their Inquisitor in horror, no moreso than Dorian himself.

 

Horns bloodied nearly to the hilt, Adaar backed away from the commotion and stared at the others. He picked up the axe casually. Cassandra and Blackwall looked at each other uneasily – the only other two warriors would have to be the ones to go hand-to-hand, but Adaar had nearly killed Iron Bull with one single attack.

 

It was something to take into consideration, not an excuse of surrender.

 

“Buttercup,” Varric muttered to Sera standing beside him. The elf had started making quiet, high noises, like she was seconds away from a panic attack. He could barely comprehend his own feelings for this situation, much less Sera, who Adaar treated like a sister. How many times had he heard Cassandra shout abuse across Skyhold when they got caught in another prank at her expense? “We’ve got to help them. It’s for the Inquisitor’s own good. You with me?”

 

Sera didn’t respond, and Varric almost wanted to repeat himself, before she eventually nodded and reached back for an arrow.

 

Varric let the bolts fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just wanted to put a quick note here. I might be adding chapters quickly this week, but after this week, I'm anticipating a weekly update schedule. 
> 
> In the Dragon Age series, I always end up making characters that have implied 'are we cool?' conversations with their LI and watch them fall in love, like Cullen with a mage or Sera with a mage or ... Cassandra with a mage or Iron Bull ... with a mage ... or Dorian, with a Qunari! I also noticed a general lack of Dorian/Adaar that isn't kink/dark!Inq, so I thought I'd introduce my gentle (or maybe not so much) giant, Kaaras Adaar!


	3. Fallen Friends

Adaar’s penchant for heavy armor made things difficult. Most of the bolts bounced right off him, not finding anything to sink into. The only thing they had going for him was that he couldn’t swing that giant hunk of metal easily. Every time the axe came down, Adaar doubled over with the effort.

 

The entire party erupted with movement. He heard Dorian shout something along the lines of, ‘Andraste’s tits, Cole, get out of my way!’ at the same time that Varric nearly knicked the boy’s hat with a bolt. Cassandra and Blackwall fought tooth and nail, Vivienne and Solas traded healing off the weakening Iron Bull (Maker, that _wound_ ), and altogether, they were trying to bring down the man that they had called their friend for nearly a year.

 

Varric figured that they had all initially, mutually agreed to just try to subdue him. Whatever was making him crazy, they could handle it if they just got him down, first. Killing him? _That_ was crazy. That’d be the end of the Inquisition, and likely the end for Thedas as a whole. They were playing with kid gloves.

 

That is, until Adaar gored a hole through Blackwall’s shield. Without a blink, Adaar picked up the Warden and slammed him against the wall. He fell to the ground with a sickening thump, and then, Varric didn’t care for simply immobilizing the Inquisitor. Then, fear and survival won.

 

He couldn’t think about it too much yet. Even Hawke had never turned against him, Maker knew he deserved it for what he pulled Hawke into sometimes. But he hadn’t imagined having to fight the guy he was following around.

 

“Adaar!” Vivienne’s voice was clear as she withdrew herself from Bull. Varric saw her summon the sword, glittering with faint yellow energy. She stepped forward, ready to swing at any moment. “Stop this foolishness at once. We’re your _allies.”_

Varric had to hand it to her. She had a way of making it sound like she was disciplining a child, even when Blackwall groaned and rolled onto his back. In that moment, he was certain of Vivienne’s plan: get to Blackwall and heal him without dying.

 

Maybe it was seeing the sword that inspired the crazed Qunari, Varric thought grimly, because he saw Adaar summon the Reaver hand and swipe out towards Vivienne ferociously. For a heart-stopping second, Vivienne just froze, pale, in his grip. It took her a few seconds to fall, twitching, to the floor. Vivienne was down, but not dead. Adaar raised his axe to finish the job.

 

“No!”

 

“Kid, stay back!” Varric held out his hand, but it was too late. Just before Adaar brought the giant axe  down on the First Enchanter, Cole got in the way, covering Vivienne’s body with his own. With so little time, it was the only thing he could do.

 

Things were moving so slowly. The sword lodged in Cole’s shoulder and the boy – he was just a _kid,_ he didn’t deserve this – fell on top of Vivienne, motionless and bleeding.

 

Him, Sera, Solas, Cassandra, and Dorian.

Maker’s britches, they were going to die.

 

Solas had given up tending to Bull, who had finally fallen unconscious. _Maker_ , Varric prayed, _please let him be unconscious._ Adaar turned towards the group of them, as if surveying who to go after next. Solas and Dorian were fighting next to one another, shooting off ice and fire in tandem. It wasn’t the first time they had worked together, but probably the first time that Varric had seen the same expression on their faces. Steely, cold-faced determination.

 

As his eyes found Cassandra, he found that he had never had any more respect or admiration for the woman than this instant. They may have had their differences, but damn, was that a hero. Suddenly, the protagonist for his next series was looking a lot more … Seeker-y.

 

With the other warriors gone, it was only her against the towering Qunari. She ducked and weaved, aiming exclusively for Adaar’s knees, occasionally grunting with the effort. All the while, her eyes never left Adaar’s axe as it swung around them. How much progress she was making, Varric didn’t know, but she was surviving.

 

“Adaar, _stop_ this,” he heard Sera order in a shaky voice, as an arrow found purchase in Adaar’s chest and stuck. “What are you doing? We’re _friends,_ friends don’t do this!”

 

It got Adaar’s attention off Cassandra. She managed to plunge her sword into Adaar’s thigh with a triumphant shout. The only thing that Adaar did in response was grunt and turn towards the shouting elf.

 

In the flash of an eye, his leg inconvenienced, Adaar  raised his hand to pull Sera towards him with the Reaver hand. He heard Sera go “ ** _No_** _no no no no – “_ Before Solas was off of Dorian’s side, sprinting, grabbing Sera and …  vanishing into thin air.

 

Huh. He didn’t know Chuckles could do _that._

 

With Solas gone, Varric saw Dorian’s expression change as he was the last mage on the field.

 

He looked _fucked._

 

Breathing raggedly, nearly hunched over from the effort. Spells were flying out of the tip of his staff at a surprising speed. He looked like he was mostly setting fire traps, here, and Varric wasn’t surprised. Necromancy was a bit harder to do, here – nobody dead yet – but flames danced around Adaar’s feet. Adaar didn’t seem to pay any notice, instead drawing Cassandra’s sword out of his thigh and snapping it across his knee. Fire was one thing that Adaar was particularly resistant to, and Varric noticed that Dorian was most definitely starting to slow down. Or hold back. Varric didn’t know what was worse.

 

“ _Sparkler,”_ Varric shouted out, loading his crossbow again and firing a quick series of shots into Adaar’s chest, following Sera’s arrow as a guide. “You gotta step it up. He’s gonna be fine, we just have to –"

 

“ _Maker!”_

  
It was Cassandra. Varric turned to look at her so fast that his neck cracked and hell, if he still had a heart in there, it was breaking at the sight of her.

 

Adaar had lifted her above his head as easily as he would a flower. Her arm was tilted at an awkward angle, her body was limp, and Varric turned around to see the shattered remnants of her shield spilled around the small room. _Shit._ Before he could react, Adaar turned to face who had last spoken besides Cassandra: Varric. It happened so quickly that Varric didn’t have time to react: Adaar threw the Seeker at him and he fell back from the effort, cracking his skull against the stone floor.

 

–

 

Dorian was a ruin.

 

They hadn’t been doing this, whatever it was, for that long. In that time, though, he’d become immeasurably fond of the big lug. Emotionally distant was more-or-less Dorian’s type, but he had such a large heart that Dorian felt himself falling harder and harder. It was bad. It would end in tragedy. It would hurt the both of them, perhaps beyond repair, but he didn’t care.

 

And now, he was proving himself tragically correct. Was that why, even as Adaar attacked all of their friends, casting spells at him _hurt_ so much?

 

He wondered if he ought to have trusted a Qunari. Perhaps that was it, perhaps all of them were like _this,_ waiting for the moment to strike. He was certainly acting like the stories told in Tevinter: even Tal-Vashoth, Qunari were raging, remorseless killing machines. He knew that was madness, bigotry, even now, but it was the only way he could make sense of how much this hurt. The idea that there was any of lovely Adaar in the rampaging ox in front of him was heartbreaking.

 

_‘Hang on! It’s nearly – I’ve nearly – will you stop swaying?’_

_Adaar took a step to the side, Sera perched on his shoulders. Even with that, she could barely reach the second story roof. It hardly helped that Adaar was laughing every few seconds, which resulted in Sera trying to elbow Adaar in the face to make him stop, which only made him laugh harder. ‘I’m_ trying, _Sera! You keep moving!’ Above him, Sera stretched as far as possible to retrieve a lute. There might have been a small argument after the 4 th consecutive run of ‘Sera Was Never’._

_Dorian could only stare from a few dozen feet away, arms crossed with Cassandra standing across from him. ‘There goes our stoic leader,’ he remarked as the two tried to balance. Sera had taken to using Adaar’s horns as some sort of steering mechanism. ‘In all his glory.’_

_Cassandra made a noise underneath her breath, continuing to polish her shield in front of her. ‘The way you’re staring at him, you would think he was slaying a dragon.’_

_Sera pushed herself up to stand on Adaar’s shoulders, which did nothing to help with balance. Adaar held onto her ankles, regardless, as she tried to pull herself onto the roof._

_Dorian chuckled at the Seeker. ‘He’s trying to get Sera to apologize. I think that’s about the same level, don’t you?’_

_‘Ha! More, I would think.’_

_Sera got a grip on the roof and was kicking desperately to pull herself up. There might have been a foot or two landed on Adaar’s face before he got control of Sera’s legs and hefted her to the roof. He applied a touch too much force and sent her, more or less, sailing onto the roof. She removed one of her shoes and tossed it at Adaar’s head, causing another laughing fit as the Qunari beaned it back at her._

_‘What a man,’ Dorian sighed, only half-sarcastically._

Now he had gored Bull and wrecked so many others. There was red lyrium in his eyes.

 

When Varric and Cassandra went down, Dorian knew he was tapped out. He’d been healing everyone who went down – it was only with Vivienne and Solas’ help that Bull was even breathing, still, but he could hardly raise his staff.

 

Adaar turned to him with such anger and hostility in his eyes that Dorian let out a small whimper. He was covered in blood; a bit of gore on his horns; a few arrows sticking out of him, a bleeding gash on his thigh, but he wasn’t slowing down at all.

 

“Now, amatus, let’s not – “ Dorian took a step back. As if talking would help soothe him (though, sometimes, he felt like it was his only strength). He was sweating and exhausted. The rejuvenation spells, ironically enough, had really taken it out of him. “Let’s not be hasty.” He was backing away. Tripping on a rock, Dorian fell on his ass and scrambled backward to the cave wall. His heart was beating out of his chest.

 

Panting, Dorian gaped up at his lover.

 

Nobody was moving. There was no time to check if anyone was alive.

 

The Inquisition could’ve been killed in one fell swoop.

 

“ **No,”** Adaar growled at him, the first word Dorian had heard him say, and Dorian clenched his staff in terror.

 

If he let himself be killed, then everyone else would die. Adaar would finish the job, if there was even any job left to finish. And then there would be nobody else. Above all else, above his _ridiculous_ little broken heart, they needed to save the world by any means necessary.

 

And Dorian knew that he probably wouldn’t be part of that returning party. Perhaps, in this mission, he wasn’t a good man.

 

That was fine. He was Tevinter; it wasn’t exactly expected for him to act with honor.

 

Adaar advanced on him, bloody waraxe in hand. When he snorted out, Dorian saw mixed blood and mucus fall to the floor. There was so much hatred in his eyes. _Amatus, don’t make me do this,_ he begged inwardly, but otherwise stood and raised his staff.

 

And in his other hand, a blade.

 

_Amatus, please. Don’t make me this man._

 

He didn’t have the courage to. No matter what Adaar thought of him, he was not _brave_ enough to do this; his hand was shaking.

 

In any state, it seemed, Adaar always knew how to help.

 

Raising the waraxe, Dorian lept out of the way. It wasn’t enough. The axe managed to catch part of his robes, half-pinning him to the floor. It was now or never, and that, thank the Maker, put a fire underneath him.

 

Dorian was furious. At Adaar, at the world, at whoever was responsible for taking away this _ridiciulous, unnecessary, perfect_ piece of happiness that he’d gotten.

 

His father’s rants on blood magic echoed in the back of his mind. But what other fucking choice was there? Adaar had taken out the best warriors, rogues, and mages in all Thedas in ... two minutes.

 

“Look at you, you big brute,” Dorian bellowed at him, his entire body shaking with rage. Maker, when was the last time he’d gotten so angry that tears started flowing? “Look at what you’ve made me do!”

 

The blade was drawn haphazardly over his palm. Nearly every mage in Tevinter knew how to perform blood magic, regardless of whether they actually did perform it. Dorian doubled over from the pain of it all, but it gave him enough energy. He slammed his staff on the ground once – sparks shot out from the bottom, snaking across the room.

 

He didn’t want to look up. Adaar’s pained grunt was enough confirmation it worked.

 

Andraste preserve him, he was a blood mage. Everything his father had ever said about him was true.

 

He wasn’t in that much pain, comparably, but the thought of dealing with all of this – of picking up the pieces, of his wounded pride, his love – made him want to tuck his tail between his legs and run back home to Tevinter. Back to his father, even. For the time being, though, he was content to take a few small moments of peace.

 

Eventually, he raised his head.

 

Adaar was there, bright bars of magic binding him to the floor like a pinned butterfly. Dorian knew it was hideously unpleasant; it wasn’t the first time he’d seen it done. He was on the ground, unable to move, paralyzed from the pain of it all.

 

It was disturbing that it broke his heart to look at him. When Dorian took a step closer, Adaar snarled and tried to reach for Dorian’s ankle. “Oh, Adaar, look at you,” he murmured dejectedly. How had everything gone to shit so soon?

 

At the very least, they were on the upswing. They just had to fix this – fix Adaar, fix the other members of the Inquisition, fix this whole damn mess. For as long as they would have him, Dorian would help.

 

“Well,” he breathed, clutching his wounded hand to his chest. Again, Adaar growled. “Let’s … fix this, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in! Feel free to leave a comment! :-)


	4. Reconstruction and Ruination

“Don’t ever do that again!”

 

“I was saving your life. A little gratitude wouldn’t ruin you.”

 

Josephine checked off the two bickering elves as they came into the main hall of Skyhold. The rest of the hall was miraculously empty of guests and visitors. The party exhaled a sigh of relief when they saw Solas and Sera -- they were not under too much risk, they figured, but still. The last two returning champions.

 

“I transported us into the _Fade_ so we could escape being _murdered.”_

 

“Yeah? And I’d rather take my chances with the murdery Inquisitor than the friggin’ Fade. There was a demon!”

 

Throwing his hands up in the air, Solas and Sera joined the ‘celebration’.

 

They were a circus of infirmity. Iron Bull was the worst off. He had foregone any clothing above his waist, keeping the thick white bandages completely visible and wrapped around in his stomach. The Qunari was pale and was leaning against the stone wall. He kept coughing into a handkerchief, and for reasons unknown to Dorian, kept excusing himself only to return a few minutes later. He hadn’t spoken.

 

Vivienne was moving stiffly, occasionally going to press a hand against her ribcage. When she spoke, she seemed to take care not to show her teeth – Dorian had gotten a glance of them; she had chipped one of her canines. Cassandra hadn’t yet taken off her armor, despite her arm being in a sling close to her chest. Blackwall, head half shaved to make room for the injuries on his head, was trying to keep a brave face.

 

Cole was sitting on the throne chair, knees against his chest. Usually, people yelled at him to get off the chair. Not today. He was also without a shirt, the bandages going from his hip to his shoulder. There was healing magic, he supposed, but they had all decided to meet and chat about things before going off to get healed. Cole was rocking himself, just a little, staying silent.

 

Dorian was sitting against the throne, on the floor, back to it. Enough to face everyone, but he couldn’t stand right then for fear his legs would give out.

 

Was it selfishness or altruism that had him feeling guilty for a little cut on his hand?

 

He had told them about the blood magic, of course, had been frank about it as soon as they had gotten to Skyhold. There hadn’t been much discussion at the time; weary and exhausted as everyone was, nobody would’ve blinked if he told them that he’d been having it off with Corypheus.

 

Leliana came up from the prison, locking it firmly behind her. A guard went from the entrance of Skyhold to guard the prison door.

 

“He’s unconscious, for now,” she murmured, leaning against the prison door and staring across at them. “We have to discuss how we’re going to cover for this.”

 

Dorian was bewildered by how quickly people were over it, were willing to make decisions about it. Adaar had just tried to kill them all. Adaar, who kept a butterfly collection in his room for a week when he found out how much the children of Skyhold loved them. Dorian hadn’t spoken since he’d come in, a rare moment of silence for the Tevinter mage.

 

Looking around, he thought perhaps they weren’t ready to make grand plans. Everyone looked different levels of downtrodden and miserable. Everyone had a health flask in their hands that they took slow, steady sips of. Even Solas and Sera, moderately unhurt, had been given a few. Varric was leaning against Cassandra, of all things.

 

“We don’t know where he is,” Dorian announced, pushing himself up to a standing position. He didn’t know why he felt he had the authority – maybe because he’d been the last one to see him. “That’s what we say. Hard battle, whereabouts currently unknown. It explains why we’re all so, er, infirm.”

 

“Won’t that stir people into a frenzy, Sparkler?”

 

“Less of a frenzy than people knowing he’s locked up in our prison cells. It’s the best we can do without starting a rumor mill.”

 

Frankly, he was open for suggestions. Part of him didn’t think he’d be around Skyhold too much longer, though he’d never leave on his own free will. The paranoid part of him told him that there would be consequences from blood magic. Even if he’d only been back a few short hours, he had a bag packed, ready to flee like some naive apostate.

 

Dorian sat back down, suggestion given. Nobody else chimed in with an idea.

 

“I’ll make the appropriate notices,’ Josephine noted on her clipboard. “We’re doing all we can to search for him, but we anticipate everything will work out fine. People tend to think so. He’s a Qunari. Might add something altruistic, like he gave himself up for ransom to save the rest of us.”

 

Bull coughed into his handkerchief. When he drew it back, Dorian spied blood on it, leading to Bull excusing himself. Dorian, exhausted, placed his head on his knees.

 

“And what shall _we_ do, Lady Montilyet?” Blackwall asked, dipping his head and taking a step towards her. “I don’t think I’m alone in saying that none of us are fit to travel, but we’re not all accustomed to court affairs. If people ask questions … ”

 

Josephine sighed, straightening out her shirt. This was the first time anyone had seen her hair down. They had woken everyone nearly in the middle of the Maker-forsaken night for this. “I’ll brief the each of you individually about what’s to be done. For now, all of you need to rest. There won’t be anything done until the morning.”

 

“Hang on, what are we doing about Adaar? We’re trying to fix him, aren’t we?” Sera was upset, pulling herself away from Solas to stand nearly directly in front of Josephine. “He _needs_ us. We can’t just – lock him up and throw away the key.”

 

“That’s an excellent point, Sera. What are we doing with the man himself, Ambassador?” Vivienne’s smooth voice sang through the room, even with her hand over her face self-consciously. She would have to enchant the tooth back to its usual state. “Are there to be guards?”

 

“We did not want to ask the Inquisition to guard the cell itself.” Leliana’s eyes fell to the guard at the door, who nodded to them. “As a precaution. I will be there watching him, as will anyone who wants to. Solas?”

 

“Of course. I will join.”

 

Dorian picked up his head from his knees, looking over towards the Spymaster. “And I? I’m relatively unscathed over the whole thing.”

 

Without missing a beat, Cassandra rebuked him. “No. That will not be necessary, Dorian.” Her eyes were staring at his hand, at the bandage. Dorian covered it up with his own and sighed. Right. That was how that was going to go, then.

 

“Dorian, we’re not going to do anything rash like martial you for the spell.” Leliana’s voice held merciless authority. “But you must forgive us when we say we do not think it wise to keep you around the Inquisitor when blood magic is on the table. The rumors of your influence have spread enough already.”

 

“The rumors? Since when do we give credence to gossip _?_ I used the spell to bind him; he was about to kill all of us! This is the reason you doubt my commitment to the cause? Because I kept all of you alive?

 

A year, and people didn’t trust him. Dorian wanted to rush to his own aid, wanted others to join him. He looked around at the rest of the party, who had their eyes solidly trained on the floor. What was he to do? What other solutions were there? Nobody died, there ought to have been a parade in his honor and a fruit basket at his feet! He had broken his own heart for this! He was indignant, and angry, and –

 

“He wasn’t supposed to hurt us,” a voice croaked from the chair. “He wasn’t supposed to hurt me. Anyone, anyone, but him.  I did not think it would hurt this much.”

 

Dorian wasn’t sure if Cole was dipping into his mind or whether that was from the spirit’s mind itself. He  had stood up and had taken a step towards Leliana, blood boiling. Cole talking had caught his attention, however.

 

He was shaking a little in his chair, like he was trying very hard to do the disappearing act that he usually liked doing, but that he couldn’t pull up the strength.

 

“How can I love a man who nearly killed me and everyone he loves?”

 

Ah. Definitely Dorian’s brain, then. Dorian’s fist dropped and he took a step back. Great. Not only was he exhausted, heartbroken, and angry, he now had the magnificent experience of being humiliated in front of the entire party. His face was flushed red. Whatever people knew of their relationship, they couldn’t pry into Dorian’s brain and knew the depth of his feelings for the man. The feelings he’d never spoken of.

 

“We won’t be sequestering you, Dorian. We are compromised. The last thing we need to do is take unnecessary risks, when other people are capable of guarding his cell.”

 

A precaution. Right. Standing up, Dorian brushed his hands on his trousers and looked towards the library. “In that case? I think we’re done here, everyone.”

 

–

 

‘You’ve already taken the first step, Dorian,’ the demon crooned in front of him. He felt a single finger curl underneath his chin, pushing his head up. Why on Thedas were desire demons so damn tall? ‘I could give you the power to bring back your Adaar, and nobody would ever know how it happened. It would be so easy.’

 

‘Sorry. Pass.’ Dorian grumbled, reclining on the chair in the Fade. These dreams came every night, now. He’d read it in a book, some endnote somewhere, that blood mages were regularly tempted by demons when they slept. He didn’t think that it would be quite so low tolerance, though. One instance of blood magic and boom, desire demons on his arse.

 

He shut his eyes as the desire demon moved to straddle his thighs. Sighing, Dorian opened one eye to see the demon about two inches from his face, transformed into the man that Dorian had horribly fancied in the Vyrantium Circle when he was younger. ‘How is your wife, Atronis?’

 

‘Think of all the powerful magisters.’ The demon was half in his ear, then, fiddling with one of Dorian’s shirt buttons. ‘All using blood magic, you’re not so naïve as not to believe that. You want to change Tevinter’s mind? You could do it _so_ easily, Dorian, you’re such a powerful mage to start with.’

 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it.

 

If it hadn’t been for Halward, as mixed his feelings were for the man, he might have been convinced to it. Still, though, he had an idea of a blood magic magister in his mind, and Dorian wanted to stay as far away from that as possible. ‘Don’t you have a Harrowing to interfere with?’

 

Atronis – or the demon behaving as Atronis – curled its lip, getting off from him. For a second, the demon vanished and Dorian thought himself freed … only to be greeted by a vision of Adaar, pale and drained on the ground. One massive hand was outstretched, just barely on the edge of the couch that Dorian was resting on. A death rattle escaped from the Qunari.

 

‘Nobody would know, Dorian,’ the demon suddenly said from behind him. One slender arm went around his chest, pinning him to the back of the sofa. ‘You could keep your Adaar safe forever. You could both escape from this, unharmed, and harming nobody. Weren’t you supposed to be an honorable man?’

 

Mercifully, Dorian woke in a sweat in his quarters.

 

He didn’t know why he felt such guilt over it. It had been necessary, vital, even. And yet, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that only bad men used blood magic, that there had to have been another way, that it was better to die honorably than become what he hated.

 

The utter lack of sleep probably didn’t help with things. Dorian reached for the pile of books by his bedside and lit a candle with a flick of his fingers, deciding that he might as well keep himself busy. At least the moon was full, spilling in through the window.

 

_‘I think that I saw ‘Qunari Wandering in Moonlight’ in an Antivan museum, once,’ Dorian offered as he stepped out onto the battlement, seeing Adaar gaze off into the mountains. He wasn’t dressed in armor, so no intention of going anywhere. Instead, he just stared._

_Adaar jumped when he saw Dorian, but didn’t otherwise flinch when the man sidled up next to him. ‘How did you know I was out here?’_

_‘I could see you from the library.’_

_‘It’s late. What about your quarters?’_

_‘What big horns you’ve grown, mother.’ Dorian slipped an arm around Adaar’s waist, who returned the gesture by leaning his head against Dorian’s. No need to dump his own problems on Adaar, on top of everything else he had to deal with. ‘What’s keeping you awake, besides the pressure of saving the world?’_

_‘Oh, just that,’ Adaar joked, ‘Also, they want me to pick the new Divine for the Sunburst Throne.’_

_Dorian’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re kidding.’_

_‘Not in so many words, but my favor will essentially change the tide. And I just … on top of everything else, Dorian, is it really so awful if I can’t bring myself to care right now?’_

_‘The man who goes to the Chantry every week? Andraste preserve us, if you’ve fallen, what hope is there for the rest of us?’ The fingers, nonetheless, tightened around Adaar’s waist and drew him closer. ‘Amatus, you have the entire world on your shoulders. They can deal with their empty throne until they’re sure it survives another year. Let it be for now.’_

_Adaar looked down at Dorian, as if hesitating, before sighing. ‘You’re right. I know.”_

_‘Of course I’m right. Now,” Dorian told him, pulling away and instead grasping Adaar’s hands. ‘You need your sleep, Inquisitor. Let’s go to your quarters; I’ll distract you.’ Before he could pull Adaar away properly, Adaar bridged the distance between them. Dorian was suddenly being held very tightly, his lips immediately parting in a passionate, intense kiss. Maker, his feet were even off the ground. It left him breathless as Adaar let him go, and for a second, Dorian just stared up at him in confusion. What was that for?_

_‘You coming?’_

 

 

\--

 

“If you’re looking for a reason to keep coming around, I’m sorry to say I’m spoken for.”

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly the reason, not because you’re the only mage around here I trust not to put a demon in my head,” Bull growled, sitting on Dorian’s lounge in the library. Dorian was pulling at his bandages, kneeling next to him.

 

Dorian didn’t really like blood all that much. That wasn’t quite true – that would have been irrational, giving his position. What he didn’t like was being knuckle-deep in a wound. When Bull approached him a week ago and admitted that his wound was infected, though, Dorian got over himself.

 

Any ill-will he had towards the Qunari, those ridiculous thoughts he had as a way of explaining Adaar’s behavior, had vanished in that short period of time. In a way, it felt … comforting. To have someone there that needed help.

 

It didn’t stop him from complaining.

 

“If you washed more than once a week, you wouldn’t have the problem of infection.”

 

“But then I’d lose my musk. Ladies love the musk.’

 

“Mmhrm.” Sticking his hand by the wound, Dorian murmured under his breath for a few moments as he started to heal. Bull stiffened next to him, still uncertain about the whole magic thing, he was sure, but they’d done this often enough.

 

Dorian tried hard not to think about how Adaar had done this, with his kind laugh. Sometimes, at night, the demons pretended to _be_ him, talking to him and murmuring at him like a lover would. Those nights hurt the most. He hadn’t seen Adaar in a week, and despite everything that happened, Dorian missed him.

 

“Still calling yourself ‘spoken for’?” Bull inquired, raising an eyebrow. It was polite conversation, maybe, but not one that Dorian was really excited to have.

 

Dorian glared up at him, and Bull let out a pained grunt as he felt something pinch the side of his abdomen. “Does it really look like I want to talk about it?”

 

His lips twitched as he looked down at Dorian, currently kneeling by his thighs. Dorian knew that look. Bull wasn’t going to make a dirty comment at that moment, he _was not,_ because Dorian would leave a Bull-shaped cinder on the floor.

 

Thankfully, Bull refrained from jokes.

 

Standing up, Dorian walked over to the wash basin to wash his hands. Bull followed. “ _Look,_ Bull. I haven’t really been thinking about it. There’s been bigger demons to slay rather than Adaar and I.”

 

“You want me to think you haven’t been thinking about it? All you talk about is Adaar this, Adaar that.”

 

“That’s doesn’t mean anything. What I mean is … “ Dorian’s shoulders sagged. “There’s bigger things to worry about. It would be selfish of me to worry about him as my – _Vishante kaffas_. As someone I care for, when he’s also the man meant to be saving the world.”

 

Turning around, Dorian was suddenly face-to-face with a broad, scarred Qunari chest. “Are you sleeping okay? Your hair is sagging.”

 

Self-consciously, Dorian fussed with his hair for a few seconds. Fuck Bull for attempting to weasel an emotion out of him in this state. Without answering, Dorian turned and stalked out of the library.

 

–

 

People filled main hall. Dignitaries from everywhere: dwarves from Orzammar, Orlesians, Fereldans, Antivans, Nevarrans, even a few people from Tevinter here and there. There was a visiting Keeper from a Dalish clan in the mage tower. No Qunari, but that tended to be the usual. Dorian was doing an awfully good job of ignoring the only Qunari there, lest he try to make him think about Adaar again.

 

Like he wouldn’t be thinking about him anywhere.

 

Dorian knew he was in no state for a meeting. Everywhere, people were buzzling about the missing Inquisitor. That was their goal, as the Inquisition: reassure people. Dorian’s job, particularly, was to laugh it off as a mildly embarrassing blunder and promise everyone that the Inquisitor would get back soon. He hadn’t spoken to a soul the entire night.

 

Everyone had been given an assignment. Whether they followed it or not was their own volition. Sera had openly cursed at the ambassador yesterday and disappeared to the tavern. She had been in a dark mood since they’d gotten back, and Dorian couldn’t blame her. They were close. Solas had given his assignment and immediately, quietly excused himself to the library. Cassandra’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

He hadn’t slept in two days.

 

Dorian had tried to fix himself up as best as he could. He was wearing something that essentially shouted ‘Ho, look at me, I’m from Tevinter!’ and his hair was styled in the best possible way. There was a drink in his hand, but poor, he couldn’t quite keep the ice from clattering together in it.

 

How like a horror film. A party going on while someone was underneath the floorboards, in the prison cells below. Every time he tried to think about it, his grip on his glass grew a little bit weaker.

 

Looking up, Dorian could see Cole’s legs peeking out from the second floor balcony, just watching the events going on. Just this once, Dorian couldn’t help but envy him. He wondered what was going through everyone’s head.

 

“I thought you of all people would understand the effect of putting on a smile to win people over,” Vivienne murmured to him, suddenly appearing at his side. She looked stunning – as always. She had fixed the chip in her tooth almost immediately. “People are starting to wonder why you look like you’re about to collapse in the corner.”

 

“I’m … my apologies,” he whispered, running his handkerchief across his face and summoning his usual coy, detached look at the rest of the party. “A long few days, I’m afraid. Don’t feel much in the celebratory mood.”

 

“I can sympathize.”

 

“Have you ever sympathized with anyone in your life, Vivienne?”

 

A smile touched the corners of her lips, although Dorian suspected it only concealed annoyance and frustration. Well, good.

 

She had a goblet of wine in her hand, and poured a little into Dorian’s empty cup. ‘I have. And, for what it’s worth, I try to think about … well. What Adaar would want. He wouldn’t want us to injure the Inquisition because everyone is worrying about him.”

 

“I’m glad _you_ can think of it in such objective terms.” Still, he sipped at his wine appreciatively. “I will do better. I will, you’re correct, don’t go spreading it around.”

 

Under his feet, something shook. It was so subtle that Dorian was positive he imagined it, even if he’d pour over it in his head for days. If he acted right then, it would have saved so much trouble. Vivienne took his attention, though, extending a hand and putting it on his shoulder.

 

“Bull says you’ve been irritable.’

 

“Maybe Bull brings it out in me.”

 

“I just wanted to, for what it’s worth, apologize for what you’re going through with him. We all adored Adaar very much, but I knew his favor was with you.”

 

“Would you stop speaking about him as if he’s _dead!?”_ The last word came out a little louder than intended, and Dorian covered it up with a cough. There was the rumbling again, louder. Party guests were starting to take notice. What the hell … ? Peering up, he saw Cole’s legs had vanished from the banister. “He’s not – he’ll be fine, Vivienne, but thank you.”

 

“As you say. Solas and I have been working on him; he’s not woken up yet.”

 

“Cassandra specifically forbade me from getting updated.”

 

“She did, didn’t she? I suppose she wouldn’t want you knowing that he’s in no danger of dying, soon, it’s only an issue of getting him to wake without any corruption. I can’t imagine why.”

 

Gratitude flushed Dorian for a second, and he nodded appreciatively towards Vivienne. “I imagine she wouldn’t want me knowing that. Andraste knows why. Some odd Seeker reason, I suppose.”

 

‘Are you sure it wasn’t the – ‘

 

In just that second, the door to the prison flew off its hinges as if by magic. It half-crushed the guard standing in front of it, and landed with a smash on the other side of the hall. A table lay crushed underneath. Dorian turned so fast that he dropped his glass.

 

There, standing in the doorway, head bowed and swaying heavily, was Kaaras Adaar.

 

The gasp that swept across the room was audible. Every variation of ‘Inquisitor!’ and ‘Adaar!’ swept across the room, and the crowd began to surge forward to surround him. Dorian felt his heart leap into his throat. In the dim light of the hall, it was impossible to tell if he was still afflicted with red lyrium, but …

 

Adaar looked _bad._ Like – like back in the –

 

Dorian was forward in a second, standing in the middle of the room right in front of Adaar. “Don’t move,” he growled at the man, instinct taking over. Suddenly, he was right back in that damned cave in Emprise Du Lion, surrounded by the bodies of his injured friends. Only, this time, there were a lot more fragile creatures surrounding him. “Don’t you dare _fucking_ move, Inquisitor.” Why did his voice crack? Why did his heart hurt, still?

 

It only took a step from Adaar before Dorian assumed the worst and, as a response, did the worst. Again.

 

Reaching for the knife from his robes, Dorian never broke eye contact with Adaar. He heard someone calling his name behind him (Cassandra, perhaps?), but didn’t react. Instead, he just murmured a prayer and, again, blood dripped to the floor and, again, Adaar was crushed underneath the bars of magic.

 

By the time the knife was drawn, the crowd had already decided Dorian’s guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are these chapters getting so long?


	5. Farewell

There had been times, of course, when Dorian had misbehaved so badly in the Vyrantium Circle during his studies that he’d been sent to the First Enchanter to get lectured at. Nobody dared chastise him too harshly – he was from a distinguished house, after all – but there was an awful lot of hand-wringing and ‘you have so much potential’, like Dorian thought it was a personal failing not to consider blood magic.

 

In a way, it was ironic, now.

 

He sat in Josephine’s study, watching the woman pick apart at arrived letters. It was two days after the incident. Dorian still did not know what happened to Adaar after he had restrained him. Several members of the Inquisition had gone to the cells and Dorian was still not permitted to know details. Now, he had Josephine, Cassandra, and Cullen looking at him like a misbehaving apprentice. Everyone in the party who even dimly resembled a Templar. Glorious.

 

“What is it today, Josephine?” Dorian’s voice was glum as he twiddled his thumbs.

 

Josephine’s voice hesitantly came from her desk, as if she was directly talking to the letters instead of her company. “Nevarra threatens to withdraw their support entirely if we don’t have a public execution and formal apology. Antiva demands to have a mage of their own choosing personally inspect every prominent member of the Inquisition. Kirkwall has publicly condemned us, as has most of the Free Marches. Ferelden states that if we keep you on, they’ll take arms against us. Orlais and Tevinter … I have not heard from them. The Chantry is displeased.”

 

Cullen’s face was in his hands, and he was shaking his head back and forth very slowly.

 

Dorian chirped out a brief, “Pleasant,” before scrubbing at the side of his face. Here he’d come to prove Tevinter a good and honorable country, and now entire nations were demanding his death. Exhaustion, guilt, and anger gnawed at him in equal parts.

 

What a proper cock-up he had become.

 

“Sera’s gotten into the letters,” Josephine mumbled scathingly underneath her breath, as if to herself. “She’s threatened to ‘stick an arrow inside every ballsack if they lop off Dorian’s head.’”

 

Andraste bless Sera.

 

“There’s a matter of what formal position we announce, and then the matter of what we do informally. I don’t think any one of us is seriously considering an execution, of all things.”

 

“I don’t know, I think Leliana considers it, on a bad day.” Dorian couldn’t bring himself to do much more than joke, even if it came out weakly. His bandaged hand was being held between his knees, almost as if he were trying to shield it from view.

 

Cassandra tilted her head to Dorian. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since it had happened, and even if they never particularly got on … Dorian wanted to plead with her to speak to him, just one word. He had no reason to feel guilt, and yet, there he was. Guilty. Now, she spoke over his head to Josephine. “Of course not an execution, but what other choices do we have? Throwing him in prison will get him killed by one of our visiting dignitaries, certainly. Unless we send him to a prison somewhere else – could we send him back to Tevinter, maybe?”

 

“Oh no no no, they’re going to make me _Tranquil_ if I go back there with an ‘abuse of magic’ charge; that will not be happening.” The idea of being Tranquil was immediately nauseating. No. Dorian was suddenly longing for Cassandra’s silence again. “What I did does not deserve punishment, Cassandra. You were _there_ in Emprise du Lion. Surely you can see … “

 

Cassandra’s hand slammed down on Josephine’s desk.

 

“The motivation behind your actions does not redeem you, Dorian. You performed blood magic in front of the entire court. What are we supposed to do in this situation?”

 

“Perhaps tell them I was _saving their lives?”_

 

“What, and tell them that the Inquisitor might as well have been possessed by a demon?” Cullen pushed himself off the wall, standing side-by-side with Cassandra. _Templars until the end._ “We’d damage the entire Inquisition’s credibility. We’ve barely gotten them to accept that he’s Qunari.”

 

“So, what, we’re just going to say that I was an evil blood mage and be done with it!?”

 

Josephine had been watching primly from her seat, as if tennis was going on. Finally, she just pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. “If anyone would prefer to hear a solution,” she replied, giving pointed looks to all the bullheaded people in the room, “I’ve written a few things down.”

 

Dorian needed a drink. Wordlessly, he fell back onto his chair and waved his hand towards Josephine.

 

“As for what we tell the public, there is only one good answer. We denounce Dorian and his actions entirely. Tell them we will take steps to ensure that no blood mages enter the Inquisition again. We have a few templars that joined the Inquisition; we could station them in the mage tower for a few weeks to provide a good showing.”

 

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but otherwise, Dorian just looked down on the ground. He felt … defeated. Josephine looked apologetic.

 

“I fear that if we don’t take action, we risk losing all the mages in the Inquisition.”

 

Dorian knew that, on one level, it was true. Feelings towards mages were fickle at best, and he wasn’t so arrogant as to risk everyone’s lives to keep himself there. There were good, talented mages present other than him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be happy about the situation.  Proving Tevinter’s worth was not his primary reason of being there. It was to keep the Inquisition strong. “I … understand, Josephine.”

 

“We’ll make a public announcement that you’ll be executed publicly.”

 

Dorian just giggled darkly for a few seconds, wondering if this was what madness was like. To be executed! Wouldn’t Halward be proud?

 

“I take it that, unless I’ve really misunderstood, that that won’t be taking place?”

 

“No. No, it won’t. I imagine a few days before the execution takes place, you somehow escape your cell and flee.”

 

‘That’ll put people right at ease.”

 

“It shields the Inquisition’s virtue, which is the most we can ask for. No solution to this is perfect.”

 

“I imagine sitting everyone down and explaining the truth wouldn’t work?”

 

Cullen hesitated, stepping forward. “Dorian, I was in Kirkwall during the mage rebellion. Even the truth won’t be enough to convince people of your innocence. There may be good blood mages out there, but if there are, they’re smart enough not to let people know.”

 

“I’m not a blood mage!”

 

“My point still stands.’

 

Dorian was leaning forward as if he was ill, elbows on his knees. This was it, then. “I … suppose there really is no better option, then. So much for the strength of Tevinter.”

 

“We’ll still use your help, of course,” Josephine commented. “Leliana’s spies can transfer communication between us for information. So don’t feel as if you’re – “

 

Anger, needless anger, sparked in the back of his mind as he threw his head up to stare at Josephine. “What? Being thrown out of the Inquisition? Cementing everyone’s fears about Tevinter mages? Nearly destroying the entire institution? You don’t have to play _nice_ with me, Josephine, don’t look at me as if you’re doing me a favor.” Josephine’s lightly hurt look had Dorian sighing, pushing himself back in his chair. “I … that was unworthy of me. I apologize.’

 

Cassandra was at his side, touching his shoulder. “We’ll have to put plans into action soon. Someone will be around to help you escape.”

 

There were a thousand thoughts running through Dorian’s head. Where would he go? He could travel, he supposed, still help the Inquisition in his own way. He was a mage archivist. There were things he could do, if he worked along with Leliana. Swallowing, though, Dorian was struggling to do anything but think: _They’re throwing me out. They’re making me leave._

 

“I see,” he breathed in a soft voice. “May I have a last request before I trade in my lodgings?”

 

 

 

 

Why was it so cold? And dark?

 

Waking on his cot, Adaar felt like he’d died. Or been captured. Everything was sore, like every muscle had been squeezed just a little too tight. He had also managed to sweat through his clothing. It was only when he looked up and saw the stars that he realized where he was. They’d been trying to repair the prison roof for weeks.

 

He sat up on his cot, reaching forward to touch his chin. His beard was thicker, covered more of his face. Huh. How long had he been out? Why did his head feel like it’d been through the same clamp that his muscles had?

 

It took a few seconds for it to kick in.

 

Samson. Samson had been there, and had given him red lyrium, and then he’d … gone crazy. He remembered goring Blackwall’s shield, and picking up Cassandra, and … oh, _Maker._ Was everyone alive?

 

His breath came in short huffs as he felt himself start to panic.

 

What if he had killed someone? Anyone? Bull’s injuries had been so bad, and – how could anyone trust him after this? How could anyone trust him?

 

“Inquisitor?” Solas’ voice , coming from outside the cell. As Adaar’s eyes started to adjust to the light, he went to the edge of the bars and grabbed onto them so quickly that the sound reverberated through the prison. His voice was desperate.

 

“Solas. Solas, is everyone okay? How long has it been?”

 

The apostate wandered up to him and didn’t answer any of his questions. Instead, he felt a cool wave of magic wash over him. “Thanks. That’s helpful,” he grumbled, raising his hands and pressing them against his temples.

 

“Apologies. I had to make sure that your mind was your own.”

 

“And?”

 

“It is.”

 

That, at least, put some of Adaar’s fears at rest. He just stood at the bars of his cell, staring over at Solas. “Can you … I remember what happened, Solas, but I don’t – is everyone alright? Did everyone make it back?”

 

Solas seemed to shift between his feet. It was one of the few times that Adaar saw the elf nervous. “I – there are some things that you cannot hear from me, Inquisitor, but I will tell you what I can.”

 

\--

 

The sun was just going down on Skyhold. It was beautiful, without reservation. Adaar had been pouring over what Solas had told him. The lyrium, the rampage, what Dorian had done to save him. From the gathering on, he’d apparently been feverish and clammy in the cell until he’d woken. Solas had been watching him, for a second time. Adaar had been grateful.

 

He hadn’t met with anyone yet. It had been a little unceremonious, just wandering out of the prison, but apparently every visitor had been cleared out of Skyhold for the time being while they got ahold of the situation. Adaar felt guilty. He’d already been writing a formal apology for his actions, and a reassurance that it would never happen again. Tomorrow, he’d speak with Josephine about it.

 

The notes he’d written lay scattered on his desk as he regarded the sunset for a few moments longer. The cool mountain air filtered in, and for a second, he knew he could manage everything. This was a minor setback. That was all.

 

“There he is,” a sultry voice wafted in from the stairwell, “Standing and everything!”

 

Oh, _Dorian._ A little bit of the anxiety fell from Adaar’s shoulders as he turned to face him. The anxiety came back almost immediately when he remembered what his actions had led Dorian to do, but he still beamed at seeing Dorian standing by the banister.

 

“I even managed to walk here on my own, it’s a big surprise. Don’t tell anyone else, yet. I think Solas is making the rounds.”

 

“You need even more rest? You’ve been doing nothing but for the longest time. And here I thought being Inquisitor was difficult.” Adaar cocked his head to the side. Not so much at the teasing – that was usual, for Dorian – but because Dorian was standing at the top of the stairs without moving. Just staring.

 

“Are you … planning to stay?”

 

“I can’t, unfortunately, I need to finish looking through a few manuscripts before sunrise.”

 

“Seriously? It can’t wait?”

 

“I’m afraid the end of the world can’t wait for anyone, amatus. You’ll have me tomorrow. How are you feeling?”

 

Dorian finally walked over to him, and Adaar immediately put an arm around Dorian’s waist to keep him there. “Like I’ve been squeezed into a chamberpot. For some reason, though, a lot better in the past few seconds.” Chuckling, Dorian raised a hand and placed it against Adaar’s chest. Still, his lover looked stressed. “You look exhausted, Dorian.”

 

“I _am._ My schedule’s already packed, and now I’ve had to add crying over your bedside and planning funeral outfits to the list.”

 

Adaar wasn’t convinced. “They’re not … I mean, Solas said you performed blood magic in front of the entire party. They’re not going to …? You had no other choice, Dorian.”

 

“There’s always another choice, amatus,” Dorian sighed to him, shaking his head. “But the point stands. I – well, you see – “ There was a pause where Dorian seemed to collect himself, before leaning forward until his forehead rested on Adaar’s chest, too. “Josephine is a clever woman. Managed to convince the court it was force magic, not blood magic. So, there you are, my sterling reputation saved.”

 

There was something to Dorian’s voice that made Adaar suspect that he wasn’t telling the entire truth. Either way, he wasn’t going to argue – he didn’t know a lot about magic, force or otherwise, but it sounded plausible. There was a guilt in Dorian’s voice. Adaar was pretty certain he knew why.

 

“It’s not your fault.” Reaching down, Adaar pushed Dorian’s chin up so that he could stare into his eyes. “What happened, Dorian, it was my fault. You were just trying to keep everyone safe.” He could nearly feel a scoff building up in Dorian’s throat. “I _mean it._ You’re not a blood mage, you’re someone who used blood magic because I was going to kill everyone, and I won’t have you thinking that you’re some sort of monst – “

 

“Oh, stop it, don’t look at me like that,” Dorian complained, taking his chin back. “I’m managing, Adaar. It was a grand philosophical realization for me, and all of that, but it’s not impacting my work, and I’m fine about – it. The thing.”

 

“Dorian, you’re crying.”

 

It was true hit him like a bolt of lightning. As Dorian spoke, tears pricked the corners of his eyes until they fell while he exclaimed he was fine. When called out on it, Dorian hid his face in Adaar’s chest and wept openly. Sobs shook his frame and Adaar just held onto him, occasionally pressing kisses to the top of his hair. Finally, Dorian pulled himself away and rubbed his eyes. “I – I’m sorry, I apologize, truly, this is mortifying. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

 

Adaar had never seen Dorian cry before.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright? If something’s wrong, Dorian, you can tell me. I promise I’m okay enough to help. I want to help.”

 

“Always the noble one,” Dorian murmured at him, before speaking a little louder. “I’m fine, truly, it just has been … a very long, few days. I have half a mind that this is all intentional on your part and you’re just trying to rend me.” He looked to the ground for a second, hiding something sad there, before appearing to pull himself together. Spirits brightened, Dorian looked up at Adaar with nothing but plain affection in his eyes. “I know sometimes I act … well, how I act. But you must know by now, after everything, that I love you?”

 

Oh.

 

That was.

 

They hadn’t. Said that. Considered that. Before. Adaar felt his brain stutter for a few seconds. Dorian’s face didn’t change, instead looking as if he were committing Adaar’s face to memory. Good. Someone ought to know what was going on. Nobody had ever said _that_ to Adaar before. “I – oh. Uh, I mean – “

 

“Nope. You’ve ruined the moment, stop it,” Wiping away the last of his tears, Dorian pressed a thumb against Adaar’s lips to keep him quiet. “I just wanted you to know, before we get into another ridiculous adventure. I _do_ have to go now – and you need to rest – but before I do, let me give you a pleasant parting memory on this cold mountain night.”

 

Dorian kissed him. It was desperate – Dorian was pulling at his shirt with one hand, pulling him down by his neck with the other. Adaar hedged his bets for a second before running his hands through Dorian’s hair and, when Dorian didn’t push his hands away, cupped the back of Dorian’s skull.

 

Coincidentally, he was also pretty sure Dorian was trying to choke him with his tongue. After so long without him, Adaar didn’t really mind, but the urgency of it all was worrying. Maybe Dorian was trying to reassure himself, after Adaar didn’t immediately return the ‘I love you’. Yes, he’d definitely kick himself later for that. He was kicking himself now.

 

Dorian had wrapped a leg around him and Adaar released one hand from his skull to support the man, but soon, the need for air won out. They parted ways just an inch. Lips buzzing, Adaar remarked, “Uh, are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

 

“I always want to stay, amatus.” Dorian looked like he was near gasping for breath. “But … I do have to go. Just remember what I said, won’t you?”

 

“Always. Dorian, I – “

 

“You already ruined the moment, don’t say anything syrupy now. Would you let me down?”

 

Shaking his head at the ridiculous man, Adaar released him (and gave his ass a pat). It was true: he was exhausted, and his muscles were already protesting at even the mild exertion. Still, as Dorian gave him a facetious little wave as he went down the stairs, Adaar couldn’t help but feel that somewhere, he had missed something.

 

\--

 

 _If I heard Adaar say that he loves me, I’d never be able to leave,_ Dorian told himself as he exited down the stairwell. He had to pause just before the door to the main hall, feeling his heart try to extricate itself from his chest. _You coward. You couldn’t tell him you were leaving. That was what you asked of Josephine, wasn’t it? That you’d tell him yourself? You couldn’t even do that._

Seeing Adaar up and about and so bloody happy at seeing him, though, it had been too much. Dorian had needed a few moments of pure happiness before setting off into the world unknown, although he had made more-or-less a travel itinerary. 

 

Stopping by his quarters, Dorian retrieved his bag and trudged, feet dragging, outside the Main Hall. _Forgive me, amatus,_ he begged when he saw the light of Adaar’s room. They would survive. They would manage. And maybe, at the end of this, if they were both alive … Dorian could see the love of his life, again.

 

Who was he kidding? They’d never be able to get out of this alive. Not the both of them.

 

At the main gates, Dorian ran into who was to accompany him.

 

“Wish it didn’t have to be this way, Sparkler,” Varric mourned as he saw him, and Solas gave a half-nod of agreement. “Ruffles says we can go with you as far as to the border of Orlais, and then we turn back.”

 

“I could go alone.”

 

Solas looked over towards Skyhold, and then Dorian. “I’m afraid not. We’re also meant to make sure that nobody appears to be tracking you. Josephine made her execution announcement, but – “

 

“Spies everywhere. I’m from Tevinter, Solas, you don’t need to go into details.” Shifting his bag over his back, Dorian peered over his shoulder at the Inquisition. At his home. In the light of the window, he could almost pretend he still saw Adaar shuffling about. _Andraste, I know I’ve not been very good at spreading the Chant or being a good man or however you judge people, but please, please protect him._

 

“Right, then. What a merry travelling band we are. Please tell me someone brought along some brandy.”


	6. Revelations

_Inquisitor,_

_It has come to my understanding that Altus Dorian Pavus is to be executed at the hands of the Inquisition on the charges of blood magic. While I cannot verify the veracity of those claims, as I have not been in contact with my son since the day you and I spoke, I urge you to reconsider. Dorian is the most outspoken citizen of the Tevinter Imperium on blood magic of this age, and I cannot, for the life of me, consider what would drive him to such an act._

_If the claims are true, then something very dire has befallen my son. Still, he is a good man that deserves better than death at the hands of a rebel institution. His home has always been the Tevinter Imperium, and this brief rebellious phase should not come at the cost of his life. Please, I urge you, if you have at all a heart in you or had a single good thought of Dorian – please return him to Tevinter in lieu of his execution. I promise that he will not trouble you or the Inquisition again. I can keep him safe from criminal charges in the Imperium, if they even think it right to condemn him for a few simple spells. I will send along a retainer to accompany him home in a few days._

_If nothing else will move you, return a wandering son to his heartbroken father. Payment can be discussed._

_Vitae benefaria,_

_Magister Halward Pavus_

Adaar had never been so confused in his life. The letter had been delivered that morning, and, for a second, he thought it was some weird practical joke. And yet, this was Halward’s handwriting. He still had his previous letter, urging Dorian to be brought to Redcliffe. Part of him wondered if he was dreaming.

 

He had slept fitfully. Guilt still ate at him for what he’d done in Emprise du Lion, and he struggled to imagine facing the others. Solas and Dorian had been fine about it, he supposed, but … he had physically injured the others. How could they respect him as a leader, now, much less a friend? Feelings of inadequacy had always plagued him, like he was some sort of imposter elected to some position he was not qualified for. He claimed outwardly, to even his dearest friends, that he was chosen by Andraste. And yet …

 

Why would Andraste choose a Qunari, of all people? Not even that, but a Tal-Vashoth, rejected by his own race? One who had experience commanding a small group of mercenaries, not an entire institution?

 

And now he’d proven everyone’s suspicions about Qunari by nearly killing all of his teammates. He tugged at his horn, turning to go exit his quarters. He couldn’t bother listening to the tiny, insecure voice inside his head, now.

 

He needed to go ask Dorian about the letter, maybe he’d have an idea about what was going on. Frankly, if this was Halward going crazy, there would be no love lost between the Inquisitor and the magister.

 

When he opened the door, letter in hand, he saw Josephine there. Josephine took a step back in surprise, and then – a wide, dazzling smile. The shining light of Antiva, Adaar thought to himself proudly. She stepped forward and pulled the Qunari into a big hug, the clipboard awkwardly clapping against Adaar’s shoulderblades.

 

“It is so good to see you in your right mind after such dreadful circumstances, Inquisitor,” she remarked, pulling back from him. “There’s so much to be done, but I hate to overwhelm you. Have you eaten yet?”

 

“No, no, I just … was looking through my letters; they were delivered this morning. Hey, would you know anything about this?”   Pulling the letter out, Adaar showed it to her. Josephine’s face lapsed into something grim.

 

“ _Damn.”_  Josephine rarely swore. It pricked up Adaar’s ears. “If Magister Pavus weren’t – well – a magister, then I would advise to simply ignore him. As it stands, however, I fear retaliation if no word is given. No matter. We will have to drop the news a few days early. Hand me the letter, Master Adaar, and I will write to him informing of his son’s unfortunate escape from prison and, as such, we will not be able to facilitate his requ—”

 

Adaar held up two fingers. “Hang on, Josephine, I think I need you to back up a little. What does he mean, we announced that we’re executing Dorian?”

 

Josephine looked at Adaar’s fingers, and then the letter in his hand, and sighed. “Of course Dorian didn’t mention it. I … believe we all need to have a talk in my chambers.”

 

 

_“Vashedan! What a steaming pile of shit! I can’t believe, Dorian – ‘_

_Dorian had remained silent almost the entire trip home from Redcliffe, but as soon as they returned the library, he held up one hand. ‘Inquisitor, please.’_

_‘What a fucking swelled head he has. As if you’d come, running into his arms, so grateful to see Daddy – “_

_‘Inquisitor-‘_

_‘If anyone ever needed a new asshole, it would be – ‘_

_‘Inquisitor!’ Dorian had suddenly whipped around, anger sparking up in his eyes. The movement had been so quick that a few papers on the lounge blew onto the floor. Dorian crossed over to him, one finger in Adaar’s face. ‘I understand and_ appreciate _the sentiment, but if you think you’re helping by insulting my father, you are not!’_

_‘Are you trying to defend him!? After what he did!?’_

_‘Ah, yes, sorry, I forgot you were there! How funny, you’d think a Qunari standing by while Father planned a blood ritual to change his son would attract more attention!’ Dorian made a disgusted noise at him, turning towards the window. He stared outside wistfully, at something a thousand miles away. ‘I can’t forgive him for what he did, Inquisitor, but he is still my father.’_

_‘He forfeited that right when he did – when he did_ that!’ _Adaar was still steaming, approaching Dorian from behind_. _He didn’t know what he intended to do – grab him? Whip him around? Hey, Dorian, I’m half-in-love with you and this is an excellent time to admit it? ‘How can you be okay with it?’_

_‘Ha! Am I giving off the impression that I’m okay? My acting skills are exemplary.’ Dorian still faced the window, shifting all of his weight onto one foot. ‘My father is a man of many faults, but he also has his virtues. A man of pride. A man of honor. All the values of Tevinter. Regardless of how much what he did hurt me, I cannot condemn him. I wish I could, Inquisitor, truly.’ ‘Love’ had been on Dorian’s tongue for just a second, and that word anywhere in relation to Halward Pavus set Adaar’s blood on fire. ‘Thank you. For accompanying me. I wish that you had seen a better side of him.’_

\--

 

“Master Adaar, please calm down.”

 

“Calm down!? Are you kidding me!? I’m out of commission and you all manage to _exile_ Dorian!?”

 

Adaar was seeing red. In Josephine’s office was the woman herself and Leliana, both regarding Adaar with uneasy patience. Crumpled on the floor were Josephine’s announcements: one announcing Dorian’s execution, and the other announcing his escape from the prison cells.

 

How could Dorian leave without telling him?

 

He knew why, logically, but right then, it seemed like everyone in the Inquisition had betrayed him, including Dorian. Did Dorian not think he would be able to handle it? Did Dorian doubt his leadership?  

 

“What were we to do?” Leliana stepped forward, waving her hand to the side. “We had no idea when you would wake up, no idea what kind of state you would be in. The court was demanding Dorian’s head, at a minimum. We did the best we could to minimize our losses. Letting Dorian live was a kindness unto itself.”

 

That was not the correct thing to say.

 

“A _kindness!?”_ Striding forward, Adaar stood two inches in front of Leliana, glaring down at her. Leliana returned his look coolly. “So did nobody think to _tell_ me?”

 

“Ah, that was … Dorian requested that he tell you himself. I only assumed he had.” Adaar didn’t even look at Josephine when she spoke up, instead glaring down at Leliana.

 

“Dorian performed blood magic in front of the entire court. What options did we have, exactly? Josephine is a master in court intrigue and we trusted her judgement. As you should.”

 

“So, what, we just toss him out? After everything he’s done? We don’t run that kind of organization, Leliana, not something on – on _lies_ and deceit like that. We are _loyal.”_

 

“One of your top advisors is a spymaster, Inquisitor.”

 

“It’s not the same. You _trust_ your Inquisition!”

 

“We do! Don’t think for a moment that this was personal. Dorian was a trusted member. If it weren’t keeping the Inquisition stable, we would have done everything we could to keep him. Adaar, don’t – “

 

But it was already done. Adaar had raised one of the chairs in the room, throwing it and letting it crash against the wall. It fell into pieces on the floor (and a nice-sized gash had been gouged from the wall). For a second, there was only stunned silence in the room with only the fire crackling.

 

Adaar turned towards the two women.

 

It was Josephine’s shocked look and hand against her chest and the slight, slight hint of fear that settled Adaar down. _Maker, I just finished being a monster. I can’t do it again._ “Where … “ Adaar cleared his throat, averting his eyes from Leliana. “Where is he now? Do we know?”

 

“No,” the spymaster responded. “We gave him enough money to travel and told him that if he needed anything, to contact the Inquisition with his location.”

 

“He didn’t give any plans, or – “

 

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor.”

 

Josephine’s voice spoke up. “I – hate to bring this up now, but if I don’t, you’ll only hear it from an ambassador tomorrow. People are demanding you, yourself, make a formal accusation against Dorian in front of the court. I have something written down, but – “

 

Speaking out against Dorian. The man he loved – and who had admitted that he loved him, without giving Adaar a chance to return the sentiment. For a second, Adaar could only picture it. Looking into the crowd, stating that Dorian was some evil blood mage that had been manipulating him, that Mother Giselle was right all along, that Tevinter’s sole contribution to the Inquisition had nearly destroyed it …

 

No. Adaar knew the Inquisition needed to be put first, but he couldn’t betray Dorian. He imagined the man now, laughing and poking fun at him for it – _oh, just say it, Adaar, I know that you adore me –_ but he couldn’t force himself to look at the notes on Josephine’s desk.

 

“Save it.” Letting out a disappointed huff, Adaar turned and stalked out of the office.

 

\--

 

“I cannot see the path.

Perhaps there is only abyss.

Trembling, I step forward,

In darkness enveloped.

 

Though all before me is shadow,

Yet shall the Maker be my guide.”

 

Adaar was half-rocking on his feet in the middle of the Chantry, bowing his head towards the altar in the middle of the room. The rest of the room was entirely deserted, save for the Seeker making her way in. The rubble hadn’t been entirely cleared from the room yet. It wasn’t a popular place to be, given the Chantry’s current stance on the Inquisition.

 

“The Canticle of Trials, Inquisitor? It’s fitting.”

 

Adaar looked up and behind him at Cassandra, letting his shoulders shrug. His outburst from earlier that day still shamed him, but he lit up when he saw Cassandra with both arms apparently unhurt. Bless magic. “Yes, I … found out what happened with Dorian. Thought I’d use all the help I can get.”

 

“Ah.” Cassandra’s eyes darkened. “It is unfortunate. I cannot – it’d be foolish of me to claim I harbored a great affection for him, but I find myself missing his presence. How are you doing, besides that?”

 

“I think I should be asking you that, given you lived through it.”

 

Rotating her arm, Cassandra moved as if to prove to him that she was alright. Adaar stepped forward to wrap her in a quick, one-armed hug. She froze for a second – she always seemed to react to affection as if it were foreign – before relaxing. “Everything is fine, Inquisitor. The Inquisition moves on, as we always will. And Dorian will still be of great use to us, even if he operates alone.”

 

“I know. I just wish – Josephine wants me to publicly accuse him. In front of the court. And I have no earthly idea what to do,” Jerking a thumb towards the altar Adaar added, “And the Maker and his wife aren’t helping.”

 

“The Inquisition comes first. Publicly condemning the man won’t do a thing about your personal feelings towards him, but it would do miles to bolster the Inquisition’s position.”

 

“But what kind of man would I be? Even as a ruse, I can’t just – people tend to hate Dorian because of where he’s from, just because of who he is. I can’t even pretend to be part of them.”

 

“And now the world believes he’s a blood mage. Their opinion cannot get any lower.”

 

Tugging at his horn anxiously, Adaar shook his head and jerked his chin towards the entrance. All of him just wanted to shut the conversation down, to just not talk about it any longer. He wanted to focus, instead, on being around his good friend. He had missed her, even if he’d been unconscious for most of it.  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess, I just need to think about it. C’mon, I’ll get you a drink at the tavern.”

 

\--

The Emerald Graves was beautiful this time of year. Or any year, really. He had been there many times with Adaar and company. Strangely, it seemed a lot bigger and a lot darker when he was all alone. Dorian wasn’t scared of the dark, but Andraste above, he had a healthy caution of it.

 

Solas and Varric had bid him goodbye at the border. Solas had given him a book of rejuvenation spells (‘to complement your knowledge, Dorian’) and Varric had given him a bottle of Antivan brandy (‘for when you need it, Sparkler’). He had nearly teared up again right there. He hadn’t cried in years before the Inquisition and then he had cried on Adaar’s chest like a child. How mortifying.

 

Brilliantly, the dreams kept coming. They had only gotten worse since his stunt at the gala. Demons tempting him, promising him that he could return, that he could be with his love, that he could redeem the Imperium for everyone once and for all.

 

What utter bullshit. In a depressing way, it was company, Dorian supposed. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks. Just … camping. And travelling. Alone. He’d seen a halla and had been possessed by an insane urge to try and befriend it, but thankfully, had restrained himself.

 

Emerald Graves had been his first destination, just due to its size and distance away from Skyhold. Still, Dorian was an archivist and a researcher first. He needed a purpose. And he had half an idea of where to go, even if the thought pained him.

 

He made his way through the dim light of the forest, scratching at his chin. Dorian would have to shave. Total isolation was no reason to be unkempt. Who was he, a Ferelden?

 

Looking up at the towering oaks, Dorian had to admit that maybe half the reason why he thought of the Emerald Graves so fondly were the nights when he and Adaar would fall asleep away from the camp, under the stars. Dorian would pick out the constellations and name them in Tevene, Adaar would do the same in broken Qunlat (or, Dorian suspected, made up a few). Making love under the stars seemed like something out of a Tethras romance novel, and yet, with Adaar, it had seemed so natural. It had been so blissfully romantic and was on his mind a little more than, say, his very important travel plans.

 

There was a rustle in the bushes beside him. That was enough to tug him out of his thoughts.

 

Dorian froze. _Kaffas._

 

“You’ve gone and fuckin’ done it now, haven’t you? He’s seen us!”

 

“Wasn’t me, it was the horse!”

 

“The horse that you’re currently riding, aren’t you?”

 

Amazing. Dorian turned around with a sigh, inwardly affirming that he was not going to die from a bunch of Orlesian idiots. “Right. Out with it, if you’re going to try to rob me, I’d prefer to see who I’m against.”

 

There was a startled pause among the men and some scuffling, before three came forward. One had a massive greatsword, one was coming at him with a stick-and-bucket, and the other was starting to prepare an arrow. Not terrible odds, all things considered, especially with the potions that were clipped to his belt.

 

“You’re Dorian Pavus, ain’t you?”

 

“My deepest apologies, but I think you’ve got the wrong man. It’s actually Donald Parnus, but you won’t believe the mix-ups – “

 

An arrow whizzed by his head and landed in a tree, just a few inches from his face.

 

“The Inquisition’s lookin’ for you, Vint. Said you escaped from their execution. You think they’d offer a pretty reward to get you back?”

 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Josephine had made the announcement, then, which meant that Adaar definitely knew. _I’m sorry, amatus._ He wondered how he’d taken it – he hoped well. As tempting as the idea of the heartbroken lover was, Dorian didn’t want to think of Adaar in pain.

 

“Oh, probably a few thousand gold pieces, I imagine. I’m _very_ desirable.’

 

The thugs looked shocked. Nervous, even, as Dorian seemed relaxed instead of, say, arguing for his life. If Dorian was nervous, it dissipated entirely when he saw them whisper among each other for a second. And suddenly, they erupted into battle.

 

It lasted an admirable forty-five seconds, and that was because it took thirty for Dorian’s walking bomb spell to erupt. And suddenly, there were a few raining body parts and silence.

 

He would’ve been an excellent blood mage, he told himself, if he lost all sense of morality. He was no godly mage, but he could hold his own with a few drunken thugs. Everyone in the Inquisition could.

 

Dorian picked over what was left of the men’s belongings before pushing himself onto one of their horses. Good, free horse. Walking was getting tiring. He looked back at the corpses he left in his wake. Odd, was that … a little regret, bubbling up in his heart? Funny how murder seemed much less murder-y when Adaar was around. Dorian tried to write it off as indigestion.

 

No matter. Comfortingly saddled on the horse, Dorian pulled out his map.

 

Corypheus was from the Imperium. If they were to figure out how to stop him, Dorian needed all the research on the Imperium that he could scrounge up. The logical solution, of course, was to go back to Tevinter – but that wasn’t happening. Not only was Tevinter more dangerous, but Maker above, he was known there. They’d capture him – or jail him – or drag him back to his father.

 

No, that wasn’t the only place that Dorian could retreat to. The Imperium once stretched across Thedas, after all. And, running his finger along the map, Dorian thought he had an idea.

 

Once the center of the slave empire, now a dirty shithole that was recovering from a civil war. Dorian knew nobody there and nobody knew him. They also had a Circle (though, frankly, Maker knew the current state of it) that _had_ to have manuscripts about ancient Tevene magic.

 

One ringed finger stilled on the tiny lettering of the map. Better than Tevinter, he supposed – _though not by much._

 

To Kirkwall, it was. For the Inquisition.

 

 


	7. Meeting Tevinter

“Thought I’d heard you out here. I’ve been looking for you, Whizz.” Adaar had to brace both of his hands on the window rame to pull himself out, but eventually the large Qunari managed to get himself onto the tavern roof. It was hardly the covert meeting spot that Sera had originally intended when she first got him out there, but it was good. Even if he had grown out of pelting rotten fruit at passersby for a prank, he found himself spending time with Sera on the roof frequently.

 

Sera remained wordless and sullen. She thrust a sack full of cookies at him. Plucking one out, Adaar chewed – and grimaced. He’d get better taste licking the underside of the stool in the tavern below, though it was faintly impressive how she’d managed to get the taste of rust in a cookie.

 

“Yeah. Not good,” Sera agreed with his expression in a monotone, tossing the sack back into her room. Below, they could see Cassandra nailing a training dummy. Adaar had offered to buy her more than the one drink, but she refused and went to go back to work. They listened to her exertion for a few seconds, before Sera asked, “So you’re you now, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I’m … I’m me. All the lyrium got pulled out of my head.”

 

“Good.” With that, Sera reared her fist back and punched Adaar in the shoulder, hard. “Don’t do that again, arsehole.”

 

It didn’t hurt all that much and Adaar chuckled at his friend. “Hey, I’ll try my hardest. You okay?”

 

Sera shrugged her shoulders. “Demons are fucking bullshit.”

 

Adaar had the urge to explain carefully that, technically, no, he hadn’t been possessed by a demon, that it had been red lyrium that made him lose his mind. Insanity, not possession. Then again, Sera probably wouldn’t care about the difference. . “You’re telling me. It won’t happen again, Sera, I promise. I’m sorry that it happened at all.”

 

“Better not. We almost get wrecked last time. Have you seen Bull?”

 

“Not yet. Is he mad?”

 

Again, another shrug. Sera looked unhappy, still, but Adaar wasn’t over the moon himself. Adaar had nearly killed all of them. That was something to get used to, something to work past. “I can do you one better than promise that it won’t ever happen again,” Adaar told her, standing up from the roof and making a dramatic pose. “Sera Of Denerim, I promise that, when demons are involved, I’ll be fighting at your side. Always.”

 

For a second, it looked like Sera was content to be unhappy, before making a ‘pfft!’ noise and dissolving into laughter at Adaar’s ridiculous posture. “Right. Right, dick, that’s how it’ll happen. Go off and do your … Inquisitor things, then. Dagna wanted to get drinks and I don’t need you snooping.”

 

 _Drinks with Dagna? Since when was that a thing?_ “Sounds good. Try not to blow anything up.” Adaar braced himself on the windowframe again, before pausing halfway through. “And, uh, one other thing, you’re not going to like this. Once everything gets settled, with me and the Inquisition, we’re going to be going to Adamant. Y’know. Stop the demon army.”

 

“ _More_ friggin’ demons?”

 

“Yeah. Sorry. Probably mostly Grey Wardens, though.”

 

Sera looked up at him, looking like she was about to flip him off, before laying on her back instead to stare at the sky. “If I’m the one putting arrows in ‘em, I’ll be happy.”

 

\--

 

“The Iron Bull, I don’t think you’re winning.”

 

“Kid, it’s not about …   _grrrar!’_

 

Somehow, Adaar felt like he wasn’t going to be walking into a friendly situation. He walked along the training grounds until he saw Iron Bull and Cole. Cole, who was sitting on a post and Bull, who was huffing over a training dummy that had been uprooted and thrown on the ground. A few limbs were missing.

 

Adaar and Bull had always respected one another, in the way that two mercenary leaders did. Bull seemed to understand Adaar’s decisions, always. Still, it had only really blossomed into friendship when Bull declared himself Tal-Vashoth. Without ever stating that it was comfort, Adaar had comforted him. Proved that a family might just be better than the Qun.

 

Cole … he liked Cole. Cole also weirded him out.

 

“Need another sparring partner?” Adaar called out, causing the two to look up.

 

As he made to the clearing, Cole disappeared on the post – and reappeared, two inches away from Adaar’s face. Letting out a shocked grunt, Adaar went stepping backwards.

 

“Adaar! You’re alright!”

 

And suddenly, he was being hugged by a spirit. A spirit boy. Adaar just raised his hands awkwardly for a second, giving Bull a _please help me_ expression, before gifting Cole a few comforting pats on the back. “I am glad to see you’re alright,” he repeated slowly, not moving, “I saw you hug in the Chantry, and I thought you might need … more. To help. You like touching people.”

 

“You like touching people, eh?” Bull scoffed in a strained voice, picking up his axe and attacking the dummy on the ground. There were still bandages around his middle. “Makes sense.”

 

“Thanks, Cole,” Adaar remarked as he pulled away from the boy. “You doing okay? By the way? I, uh, seem to remember lodging my axe in your shoulder.”

 

“Vivienne healed it. She said it was the first time she ever healed a spirit. I think she was surprised by how much I bled. She didn’t think that spirits would bleed so much. I fixed her tooth, for her. She knew there were more important things to do, but it still hurt for her to see it, so I helped.”

 

“Taking it that you had a long, drawn out conversation inside her head, Cole?” As Bull grunted, he split the dummy in two.

 

“You’re hurt, too, The Iron Bull. You – “

 

Bull swung his axe until it hit the post where Cole had been sitting, splitting it in two. That was enough to startle Cole into stepping away. “Kid. Not today.”

 

“Hey, Cole, why don’t you go talk to Cassandra? We’re all going to Adamant, soon, and you might want to get –”

 

“Why do you want me to go talk to her when you just really want me to leave so you can make sure The Iron Bull isn’t upset?” Cole’s voice wasn’t hurt or offended, just curious. As he looked up at the Inquisitor, his eyes betrayed genuine curiosity. Regardless, at Adaar’s slightly stupefied look, Cole vanished.

 

“Thanks for that. Kid hasn’t been leaving me alone since everything happened. Sort of like having a puppy following you around. A puppy that can read your thoughts.”

 

“He means well. I think. How’s that doing? Why haven’t you had anyone heal it?”

 

Looking down at his abdomen, Bull patted the bandages and picked up a training shield. Picking up another shield, Adaar squared off against him. “Dorian said it was too bad to heal all at once, at the beginning. And now, no offense, but I’d rather take my chances with infection than have Solas or Vivienne look at it.”

 

“Uh, is this a time where I should give you a speech on trusting your teammates?”

 

Running forward, Adaar slammed his shield against Bull’s. Bull blocked him easily enough, grunting for a second before shoving the Inquisitor back. “Not the time.”

 

“So you’ve had Dorian healing it?”

 

“Jealous?”

 

Adaar couldn’t even resist rolling his eyes. “Yeah, Dorian’s going to leave me to run off and be with you. I’m just … I don’t know. Things are complicated. With him leaving, I can’t help but feel – “

 

‘That you’re responsible? You are.” Well, that was basically Adaar’s worst thoughts come to life. He gave a half-glare towards Bull. “You’re holding yourself accountable, though, that’s where most people have trouble. How are you not – “ Bull grunted, dodging another attempt to get hit with a spike. “You got possessed and nearly tried to kill all of us. That’s the worst thing that can happen to a Qunari.”

 

“I didn’t … it wasn’t possession. It was, uh, temporary rage.” Adaar weaved to the side to avoid getting half-stabbed with the pike. “And I’m trying to make up for it. If I fall to pieces, then so does the Inquisition. I nearly ended everything once because I got infected, I’m not doing it again while I’m in my right mind.”

 

Adaar managed to get hit. It was enough to send him to the ground on his back, squinting up at the sun. Thankfully, the sun got blocked as Bull looked down at him.

 

“Yeah. We need to have a talk about that ‘again’, though, still. If it happens again, you want me to kill you before you hurt anyone else or nah?”

 

That made Adaar pause for a second. More shift violently than anything, actually, as he stared up at the other Qunari. “Uh, what?”

 

“Look. Qunari-to-Qunari, some of the toughest bastards in Skyhold,” Bull told him, reaching down to help him up. “If it happens again, you might kill someone. Dorian’s the only reason why you didn’t end up killing _everyone._ If it happens again, I might be able to kill you before you do too much damage, but I’d rather get your go-ahead with it, boss.”

 

If this wasn’t the most cheerful conversation he’d ever had. Adaar seemed to consider for a few seconds, before asking, “If you get possessed, do I get to kill you?”

 

“Yeah? Of course.”

 

“Then yeah. Sure. Fair’s fair.”

 

Adaar managed to get a swipe in with the pike at Bull’s knee, causing the Qunari to grunt and shift to his other leg. This weird pact wasn’t comforting. Getting possessed – or dosed with lyrium – sounded terrifying enough, only now to know that he probably wouldn’t be waking up at the end of it. Still, it was duty, and if there was ever a word that he’d get emblazoned over his asscheek, it was responsibility.

 

“Good,” Bull grunted, shoving his shield forward again. “And Boss?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If I didn’t have total faith in you and what we’re doing here, I would’ve left the night we got back to Skyhold. Didn’t sign up to deal with demons and possessions and shit.”

 

“Never doubted you for a second, Bull.”

 

\--

 

The voyage had been nauseating, and the country smelled faintly like salted fish, and if Dorian didn’t get a statue in his honor at the end of all this, he was going to be very put out. Visiting Kirkwall voluntarily? That, on its own, deserved a medal.

 

He had been traipsing up the Wounded Coast for the longest time, seeing the high walls of Kirkwall in the distance getting closer and closer. The history had always made him faintly uneasy. Although Dorian’s opinions on the Imperium slave trade were mixed at best, _maybe_ the large slave prison city wasn’t all that good in improving Tevinter’s reputation.

 

Perhaps he ought to write the Inquisition to help with a plan. Get information, an update about the city, maybe sneak in a ‘How is Adaar’ in there.

 

He missed him. More than he thought he would. More than he should. He found himself getting tired of seeing all the humans and elves and the occasional dwarf, longing instead to see those ridiculous horns. As difficult as their being together had been politically, Maker, he’d pay a hefty sum to be able to spend five minutes with him again.

 

There were a few bandits up the road that Dorian had to focus on. He’d killed several more travelling groups since his time in the Graves, and frankly, he didn’t even wait for them to strike first anymore. Bandits? Slavers, maybe, from the cloaks they wore. There was an Imperium crest on one of them.

 

Dorian didn’t even try countering them. He knew their type. Kill anyone they saw, enslave the ones that survived. Dorian’s sympathy was at an all time low.

 

“Hello, my fellow countrymen!” Dorian called out from the top of the hill, raising his staff. The group of thugs startled a little, staring up at him, and then he saw a magister take out a spellbook.

 

Darting out of the way, Dorian rained fire down on them. Unfortunately, there was no comparable training like an Imperium mage training, and after a few minutes of exchanging spells at one another … the thought that Dorian might’ve been outmatched with a half-dozen Tevinter slavers entered his mind. He’d never been very good at picking his fights.

 

That thought grew a little louder when his cloak was set on fire. Looking to the side, left and right, Dorian launched himself into the ocean to put out his coat. Maybe it’d be an alright way to survive the battle, too, if not a very dignified one.

 

And just like that, someone else joined while Dorian was under the water. Dorian couldn’t see who it was at first – there was only a bright flash of blue, distorted from his view under the ocean. Then he heard another voice, in a particular Tevene accent, shout out, “Die, slaver!”

 

What on Thedas was _that?_

 

\--

 

_The punch hit his chin and sent him to the ground. The contact with the floor hurt more than anything, his jaw hitting the floor of the Val Royeux book-keeper’s shop with a terrible thud. His brain rattled inside of his skull as he groaned, raising one hand to touch his nose in surprise. When the elf had approached him as he was buying a book, Dorian had thought nothing of it – hadn’t even reached for his staff when he felt a tap on his shoulder._

_“That was for my sister, Vint!”_

_Oh, good! Another man with misplaced anger at his entire society. Wonderful. As his ears rung and he pushed himself off the floor, he didn’t hear the door to the shop open wider and a large Qunari step in._

_“What’s going on here?”_

_Maker, he’d never been more happy or embarrassed to hear Adaar’s voice. Here he was, the damsel in distress. Dorian concentrated on wiping the blood from his face. It was, he told himself, prudent not to return the elf’s aggression – how would it look, a Tevinter against a working-class elf in the middle of Val Royeux?_

_“This Vint has to answer for what he’s done.” The elf spit on him, and Dorian let out a Tevene curse as he stood._

_He heard Adaar make a furious noise, and Dorian really, really hoped that there wasn’t about to be a murder in central Orlais. That wouldn’t look really well in the eyes of the Inquisition. Despite hating that Adaar was saving his arse, that noise was mildly attractive._

_“This ‘Vint’ is a member of the Inquisition.” At that point, the elf knew he had fucked up. Adaar lifted him by his underarms against the wall, a full foot above the floor. The elf didn’t even bother to kick. “And has done more work to help Thedas than you ever have.”_

_“Inquisitor!” The elf gasped, eyes looking over at Dorian. “I – I didn’t know – “_

_“That’s right. You didn’t. You can avenge your sister, but find the right person. Dorian is not.” Adaar dropped the elf to the ground – who fled, immediately, nearly falling over himself to get away. With the immediate threat over, Adaar turned and offered a hand on the shoulder and a concerned look. “Are you okay?”_

_Maker, but was he a lucky man. He had to fight the urge to just stare at him in ridiculous, immature affection. Still, he had a reputation to protect._

_“I’m still the most handsome member of the Inquisition, although I’ve lost my lead by a few points,” Dorian grunted, hand going up to his jaw and dabbing at it with a handkerchief._ Ow. _“You didn’t have to do that.”_

_“Do what?”_

_“Rough him up. He would’ve shouted for a bit and gone off. He was angry, not homicidal.”_

_“I didn’t really … plan to.” Adaar mumbled, gently turning Dorian’s head to the side so he could inspect the injury. “I saw you on the ground and instinct kicked in.”_

_Dorian chuckled at him, ducking his head a little to hide the blush that spread across his cheeks.“Instinctually running to protect my honor? I could get used to that.”_

_\--_

 

“Inquisitor?”

 

Leliana’s red head poked into his quarters and she stepped forward, glancing over Adaar. “Leliana. We were just about to set out for Adamant. Everything alright?”

 

The spymaster strode towards his balcony, gesturing for Adaar to follow. In the distance, just coming into Skyhold, Adaar saw a small party carrying the Inquisition banner. He raised an eyebrow. Although he hardly knew the comings and goings of every person in Skyhold, that seemed to be too impressively large enough to be beneath his notice.

 

“There was an intercepted party en route to Skyhold,” Leliana told him, putting her elbows on the railing. “And I needed your input about what to do with them. Initially, it was roughly thirty people. Twenty of those were a mercenary group that splintered off upon capture, however. I would think to put them in the cells for the time being, just to have a guard on them.”

 

For a second, Adaar hesitated, before suggesting, “Yeah. Cells for now until we figure out what they want.” There was a more surprising matter, however.“ _Twenty_ mercenaries? Who the hell hires twenty mercenaries? That’s begging to be robbed and left for dead.”

 

“Apparently,” Leliana remarked, glancing up at Adaar. “Magister Halward Pavus hires twenty mercenaries.”

 

\--

 

“State your purpose, Tevinter. Are you in the slave business?”

 

As it turned out, the giant blue glow came from a small glowy elf. Dorian found himself flabbergasted by the intricate lyrium carvings in his skin and utterly speechless for a long moment. It had been a … fad, he supposed, in Tevinter. Thankfully, his father had always been above abusing his slaves to get the approval of society. Carve lyrium into their skin, give them powers, they do glowy tricks at parties. Not worth the moral catastrophe.

 

He never thought he’d see one just casually milling about. Even amongst people who cared about that sort of thing, most magisters didn’t actually do it.

 

“I – sorry?”

 

“ _Venhedis._ Your _purpose._ Your – _propesitorum?”_

 

Dorian was not mistaken in that accent. That was Tevene. He blinked stupidly at the elf, utterly speechless, still.

 

The massive greatsword was suddenly placed against his chest, which did do wonders for speeding up Dorian’s thought process.

 

“I! I speak common. Purpose. No, no, I don’t deal with slaves, I – ha, do you really think I’d be caught so off guard if I had slaves?”

 

Not the right thing to say. The sword dug forward into his chest a little, and Dorian shook his head. “No, no slaves.”

 

“What house are you?”

 

Dorian thought about asking this person the same question but decided against it. Obvious. This man was an escaped slave. He had his master’s house title, but likely, that wouldn’t win him any favor to bring that up. Well, that certainly made things uncomfortable. He raised a hand and placed it against his neck, looking down at his reflection in the greatsword against his chest. “Er – Pavus. Dorian Pavus, is my name.” He offered a smile to the elf. “And how do you do?”

 

There was no more space for the elf to dig his sword without actually cutting skin, but the elf didn’t lower his sword at all. Qunari strength, his ass, look at the two-handed-wielding elf. “House Pavus. You didn’t use blood magic. Danarius always spoke ill of your house for being weak.”

 

“Your master was Danarius!?” Things started making a lot more sense. “No wonder you ran off. Man was an ass.”

 

“I would have ran off given any master,” the elf shot back at him. Still, he relented just a hair and lowered his sword. “But yes. He was an ass.”

 

“I was wondering about your markings, should’ve put two and two together, and – sorry, why are you raising that again?”

 

“Your house may have been kind to its slaves, but you still own slaves. You may not be a slaver, but you still have to die.”

 

Dorian’s hands went up again. He was still exhausted from the previous fight, and frankly, he wasn’t sure how some of his spells would interact when put up against raw lyrium. Besides, wasn’t  his power always his golden tongue? “No! No no no. I ran off, same as – well, not the same as you, obviously, but I left Tevinter. I’m with the Inquisition. No slaves to speak of.”

 

“The Inquisition?” The sword went back into its sheath for good this time, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know they accepted Tevinters.”

 

“They accept all sorts. They have to, given that the lead man is a Qunari.”

 

The elf adopted a strange face, and Dorian wanted to ask him if he was feeling a bout of indigestion. Finally, the elf stood to the side so Dorian could step out of the ocean and asked, in a quieter voice, “A man I know went to help. Hawke. Do you know of him?”

 

A few other things clicked in Dorian’s mind, and he could have cried with relief. Good, he wasn’t going to be killed at the elf’s hands – at least, if any of the stories about Fenris’ golden heart were true. “Maker. Are you Fenris?”

 

As if hit by sparks, Fenris turned around and, for a second, looked like he wanted to attack again. The implication was clear _– how do you know my name?_

 

“Hawke speaks volumes about you. We only travelled for a short time together; Hawke has a lot of commitments, but … what an honor to meet you, Fenris, if half the stories he tells are true.” With the smarmiest smile Dorian could muster, he stuck out his hand.

 

Fenris looked struck dumb. “He … tells stories about me?”

 

“As much as any lovesick young mage does.”

 

For some inane reason, Dorian didn’t know why, he expected the man to blush blue. He did not. He ducked his head and coughed, before looking towards Kirkwall. “Fine, magister. What Inquisition business brings you here?” _And not him,_ was what Dorian added silently.

 

“Right, let’s … you’ll probably appreciate the terminology. I’m not a magister; that’s my father. I’m an altus.”

 

Fenris just blinked at him, long and slow.

 

“Or perhaps not. I – I’ve been sent here by the Inquisition to study some old Tevinter magic. Given Kirkwall’s association with the Empire, this seemed a likely choice.”

 

“And how do you intend to get there?”

 

“I … thought I’d ask the Circle?”

 

Fenris barked out a condescending laugh, shaking his head. “ _Vishante Kaffas._ You really are a magister. You can’t simply walk into a Circle.”

 

“No, I know that. I was going to think of a solution when I got here. And I really must be going, unless you’d like to laugh at my expense any longer.”

 

It wasn’t that Dorian didn’t have any sympathy for the man. Although his family did not know Danarius on a personal level, the man was the opposite of what Dorian stood for. His slaves died frequently and in agony. Suicide was common. And, as far as he knew, Danarius also subscribed to using the favorite slave as a sexual plaything. When word of his death had reached Minrathous, well – there was a bottle of champagne to celebrate between him and Felix.

 

Yes, Dorian had a lot of sympathy for the man in front of him. Still, he had a mission to complete and he wasn’t sure how long his neck would stay intact around this very angry elf.

 

There was some hesitation, before Fenris put a hand out to touch Dorian’s soaking cloak. “You’re going to get yourself killed. And Hawke will be disappointed if that happens. He has a lot of respect for people who try not to add to chaos.”

 

 _Well._ That was debatable. Dorian thought himself very chaotic, in general.

 

“There are associates of mine in Kirkwall that can help.” Fenris turned to walk, as if he were expecting Dorian to follow immediately. He only got a few steps before stopping in his tracks. “Magister. What are your thoughts on blood magic?”

 

What a question. Dorian wanted to laugh at the irony of it, but instead kept a straight face and told the truth. There was definitely a right answer in this scenario. “I think it’s the most sickening practice that the Magisterium has unleashed upon the world.”

 

“Good. Bite your tongue with Merrill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos and kind words!


	8. Forgiveness and Transformation

What a shithole.

 

Not that Dorian would mention that to his kind, if surly, travelling companion. They traversed into Kirkwall quickly enough. He’d already been imagining getting stopped by the guards, because sweet Maker, they were a bit of an unlikely travelling duo. However, Fenris was a local, and seemed to know what he was doing.

 

Not that there was plenty of lyrium-carved elves and Tevinters running around. No, he just noted a general lack of … well, tender, loving care in the guards’ affects. The guard just advised them to avoid trouble before pushing through to a place he called ‘Lowtown’.

 

Still, Dorian was in good spirits.

 

He hadn’t found a single kind soul when he left the Imperium for the first time (had been robbed his first night alone, actually), and behold, he’d just been adopted by a kind escaped slave.

 

Or something like that, anyway.

 

“People _live_ here?” Dorian asked with an upturned nose as they walked through Lowtown. Twice he had to get out his blade when someone attempted to pickpocket his satchel. All around him, he saw signs of a city in crisis. Rebuilding, of course, but otherwise without law and without order.

 

He supposed that had been a result of the rebellion; he hoped that the Circle hadn’t been entirely ransacked of material, but as he travelled, he realized that perhaps he ought to start planning for that. There was still large debris scattered around the area, and Dorian could only think that perhaps there was no funding to sweep it away. Everywhere, though, Dorian saw flowers along with a few scrawled words of love and grief. It was depressing. Dorian had limited opinion of Anders before, but Maker, what had the man done?

 

Was this what people thought the Imperium was like, just with more mages? Madness.

 

“Not everyone can build their empire off the backs of slaves, magister.”

 

Dorian snapped to attention when Fenris called him by his incorrect title. “If we _are_ being technical, Kirkwall was built off – “

 

Fenris’ dark look silenced him. Right, yes, Dorian, remember when the elf wanted to kill you? Looking around him, Dorian noticed the walls were getting decently … higher. Huh. Was that a Free Marches style thing?

 

The people bustling around them got a bit more elfy, too. Ah, no, not a slum, then. Alienage. Dorian had heard word of the Kirkwall alienage, and the mentions of claustrophobic conditions started to become a bit more obvious. He wrapped his damp cloak a little further around himself, glancing around.

 

Hopefully Fenris wasn’t transporting him to the alienage in some sort of weird elven sacrifice for his people’s crimes. He doubted people would care much if he was. He’d seen very few guards in the area, and even fewer templars. As they rounded the center of the alienage, though, Dorian had to be honest: he wasn’t expecting a tree covered in lights and paint.

 

Next to a plaque describing the tree’s history, another plaque out of wood remained. In bronze, there was a small inscription.

 

_In memory of the elves that lost their lives in the mage-templar war. May Falon’Din guide you to your rest, and may we call upon Elgar’nan to give you peace._

In the tree, someone had scratched beside it with a knife:

 

_Fen’Harel can suck it!_

 

Well, if that wasn’t depressing.

 

Clearing his thoat, Fenris was jerking his thumb towards an open door to a tenement. Dorian pulled himself away from the plaques and joined him inside, feeling strangely hollow. Kirkwall really had been shat on by Thedas for the past few years, hadn’t they?

 

When he went aside and ascended the stairs to Merrill’s tiny lodgings, he heard someone make a noise of delight from within.

 

“Fenris! You haven’t come around for so long! Is someone behind you, has Hawke returned alr—”

 

Feeling strangely like an unwanted intruder, Dorian stood inside the door to inspect the scene. This was Merrill, apparently. A blood mage? She didn’t look like one; there were no dead slaves lying about. Best be on his guard, though. He placed his staff next to the greatsword in front of the door, figuring that this might have been some house rule, like taking off one’s shoes.

 

It was quite cramped. A fire roared in the corner, and in the doorway, he caught sight of one corner of her bedroom. Was this what an alienage was? Maker above, at least in Tevinter, they didn’t have dirt floors in the servant’s rooms.

 

A wooden bowl and spoon rested on a wooden table, and books piled nearly every flat area around it. More books were visible in the corner in a make-do bookshelf, some things were pinned to the wall, and Dorian considered the woman in front of him was either brilliant or obsessed or both.

 

“Oh! Is this a new … friend, Fenris?” She half-choked on the word friend, as if she wasn’t really used to saying ‘friend’ and ‘Fenris’ so close together.

 

“Of sorts, I imagine. I met him on the Coast and he didn’t kill me. I’m getting the feeling this is friendly behavior from him?”

 

Grunting, Fenris sat down on a bench in the living room. His head jerked towards Dorian, as if inviting him to share his cause.

 

“Dorian Pavus of House Minrathous, Tevinter Imperium and elsewhere. I take it that you’re Merrill?”

 

“I am, and it’s very nice to meet you, Magister Pavus. I, um – what are you doing here, exactly? Alienages and Tevinters kind of go together like bees and jam.”

 

Free Marshes suddenly seemed no more appealing than Ferelden when he heard the title, but Fenris smirked a little from his corner. Before Dorian could open his mouth again, Merrill hit her head. “Lady Sylaise, I don’t know what stuffing I’ve put in my head. You’re Dorian, with the Inquisition.”

 

Dorian looked back and forth between Fenris and Merrill, wondering how in Thedas they’d been able to translate information so quickly. Merrill reached for a few letters, scattered on the bench next to Fenris.

 

“Hawke’s talked _so_ much about you.”

 

Hawke? Dorian hadn’t travelled with him all that much. Just to Crestwood – and granted, draining an entire lake counted as a bonding moment – and then the Western Approach, but it wasn’t as if they were dear friends.

 

Fenris reached over for one of the letters, thumbing the worn corner thoughtfully. “Hawke talks so much about … everything.”

 

“No complaining, he feels bad about leaving. Let’s see – here we are!” Merrill cleared her throat. “Dear Merrill, today I met a couple who were even stranger than Fenris and I – a Qunari and a Tevinter!” Putting the letter down, she referenced through another one. “Dorian shouldn’t complain about having to camp so much. None of these high-flying nobles would last a minute in Kirkwall.”

 

Well. At the mention of Adaar, Dorian cleared his throat and quipped, “Not to sully his point, but I have lasted _several_ minutes.”

 

“Hawke’s just such a pessimist sometimes. Here, a friend of Hawke’s is a friend of ours.” And suddenly, he was being hugged by this small elf-mage, and Dorian didn’t know what to do. He sought help in Fenris’ face and found none, only a slow, dead-eyed look of ‘I’ve been there before’. “Have you travelled much? Are you hungry? I’ve just been to the market, and while I wouldn’t say Kirkwall has any delicacies, especially, there is this lovely ex-Dalish shopkeeper who has the most – “

 

“He has not come here to visit for pleasure, Merrill,” Fenris croaked out from his chair, standing and crossing to the doorway of her bedroom.

 

“Oh! Yes, I should’ve – right. I’ve gotten all caught up in Hawke’s letters again. What can I help you with?”

 

Dorian’s stomach interrupted to argue that, actually, he would rather like whatever was from that lovely little ex-Dalish shopkeeper, but there would be time for that later. “I want to get into the Circle to see if there’s anything about old Tevinter magics.” He thought about explaining more, perhaps, but he probably shouldn’t really be spreading Inquisition secrets around. Hi, yes, the thing that is destroying our world? From the same country as the people who nearly destroyed your people! Small world.

 

“A mage sneaking into the Circle?” At first, Dorian feared that she was going to entirely shoot down the idea, before she clasped her hands together. “That’s exciting! I’ll try to help, however I can, although these used to be old prisons for slaves, so I don’t really see how.”

 

Fenris tilted his head back. “Carver’s old templar armor.”

 

With that, Merrill’s face went so red that Dorian could no longer pick out her vallaslin. “I – I don’t know what you – “

 

Wordlessly, Fenris went over to side of the fireplace, where several logs were kept. Picking one up, slightly sooty letters went scattering everywhere. Merrill stuttered something out, and Fenris remarked it with, “I haven’t told Hawke yet.”

 

Dorian suddenly had the sinking feeling that he had walked into some romance novel. Still, even in the mix of everything, this felt particularly juicy. He loved a good rumor.

 

“A templar and a mage? Scandalous.”

 

She got more red. “I – he’s not a Templar anymore, he’s a Grey Warden, so it doesn’t _really_ count, and he might have just … he’s gone, anyway, Hawke sent him away so he could avoid the Calling.” Merrill glared and walked over to Fenris to hurriedly replace the letter’s hiding place. “Not like it’s any of your business, Fenris.’

 

Right. Masquerading as a templar to get into the Circle? If his choice was between going in as a mage or a templar, he’d rather go in as the party with the power and pointy sticks. For a second, Dorian asked himself if this was stupidly dangerous – but then he thought of the information in there helping with the final battle against Corypheus. Possibly being the difference between life or death.

 

“Merrill,” Dorian requested in his best dignitary voice he could muster, “I only ask as a member of the Inquisition, that it might help stop Corypheus. I don’t want to – er, I’ll bring it back, if it’s that sentimental ---”

 

“I don’t care about that. If you want the truth, I’m not really fond of a big templar uniform sitting in the corner of my bedroom.” Merrill appeared to size Dorian up for a second. “I’ll have to work some magic on it. Carver’s a lot bigger than you. The greaves will fall right off.”

 

Well, self-conscious about his arms wasn’t how he’d picture spending his day. Fenris stood up from the door, going to head out, before looking over his shoulder at the duo. His greatsword still lay in front of the door.

 

“The Inquisition sent you here, you said?”

 

_No, Fenris, I’m an exile and probably half of Thedas wants to kill me on sight. Get it right._

 

“Of course.”

 

Dorian felt his face heat up for a second. If Fenris knew, then Dorian would have to be making a hasty escape very, very quickly. He searched the elf’s lyrium-encrusted face for a second, but found nothing. He had a burning urge to write Varric and ask how the elf was at cards.

 

“I see,” Fenris remarked, before shutting the door behind him.

 

\--

 

“You know,” Adaar remarked as casually as if it were a dinner party, “Back when I commanded my own unit, we always looked for guys like you. Rich old assholes who thought that, if he hired ten guards instead of one, he’d be ten times as safe.”

 

It was only when Adaar reached the end of the stairs that he could see Halward Pavus, his cell lit up in the dim glow of Skyhold’s prison.

 

“I would never hire a Qunari mercenary group,” the man replied scathingly, looking thoroughly humiliated. There were blood patches here and there on his clothing from the scuffle.

 

They had found Halward Pavus, some nobles, and one or two slaves intermixed between the group. Although he knew that it was a hollow victory, Adaar was pleased to see that at least Dorian was telling the truth when they first met – the slaves were well fed, literate, and, as for the time being, unwilling to leave the Tevinter Imperium. Some people were trying to wear them down.

 

Kind slave owner, he was still a slave owner. Not that Adaar needed any other reasons to dislike him.

 

Adaar stilled in front of his cell, staring down at the man. “Really? You should consider the Valo-Kas. Only takes Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth, and maybe you wouldn’t have gotten captured that way.”

 

With a groan, Halward put his head and in his hands. “ _Enough._ Tell me where you’re keeping my son.”

 

“This is about Dorian?”

 

“Why else would I be here?”

 

For a second, Adaar wondered how two people that were so different could love the same man. In different ways, of course, but sometimes he loved Dorian so much it hurt, and looking at Halward, it seemed as if the man felt the same way. It softened Adaar, but only momentarily.

 

“We made an announcement. He fled.”

 

Halward’s hand clenched into a fist. “And you’re making no movement to find him? You’ve just let him – go out, and do Maker knows what, and hope it doesn’t impact you?”

 

Lying was never Adaar’s strong suit, but it was remarkably easy when it came to Halward.

 

“We have bigger things to worry about than Dorian. He fled to avoid execution. Wherever he is, he’ll know that if he causes too much trouble, we’ll find him.”

 

“He’s not – “ Halward looked like he was biting his lip for a second, and Adaar wondered if the man was near tears. “Inquisitor, I know that I may not be a particularly endearing figure to you, but we both know Dorian. Dorian is whimsical, romantic, and rash – but he is not a bad man.”

 

 _I know he’s not. I know much better than you._ Adaar huffed a breath of air through his nose, crossing his arms.

 

“Whatever drove him to this, it may be putting his life in danger.”

 

“That’s a theory.”

 

“There must be some reason. What he needs right now is to come _home.”_

 

Anger flooded Adaar. One of his fists punched the wall next to Halward’s cell, a few pieces of stone exploding to the floor. Halward suddenly scurried until his back was to the wall, intimidated. Adaar knew it was probably hasty, probably irrational, and probably not the image that he wanted to provide: but _Maker,_ it felt good to scare Halward.

 

“The home where you nearly killed him with blood magic?”

 

“I only wanted what was best for him. I thought, by changing him – he would have been happy with Livia.”

 

Happy. Right. Adaar leaned against the wall, eyes shut. How Dorian still talked fondly of his father sometimes, Adaar didn’t know, because the man was grating on him more every second. He thought of Dorian, made Tranquil by blood magic (or Maker even knew) ‘yes dear’-ing for the rest of his life in some Magisterium, slaves by his feet.

 

No, Halward wasn’t going to get any sympathy. He had to keep in mind not to offend the Magisterium as a whole, because otherwise, well, putting him to slave work for invading Skyhold was very tempting.

 

A few seconds passed. The only thing that was audible were birds, making their homes in the half-ruined part of the prison.

 

“Did you love him, Inquisitor?” Adaar heard Halward’s voice in the cell, quiet and pained.

 

Adaar wanted to rage at him again, just shout and yell about how nobody in Thedas was content to let them be, that he was just a person who loved another person, and that if he heard another comment about the-Qunari-and-the-Tevinter, he was going to throw his hands in the air and say that Thedas wasn’t worth saving.

 

When he felt that thin spike of anger hit him again, though, he just remembered Sera’s terrified, betrayed expression. Or Iron Bull, trying to calm him down as they were chest-to-chest. Cassandra, raised over his head.

 

No. He wasn’t that monster, and he wasn’t Halward Pavus, either.

 

“Dorian left. We have no plans to chase him down. He is alive – some fathers aren’t so lucky, Halward. Go back to Tevinter, and stay. I have business to attend to.” Turning around, Adaar went to go back up the stairs. Behind him, Halward lowered his head.

 

\--

 

_‘We’re never going to Crestwood again,’ Vivienne murmured venomously as the camp packed. Crestwood, universally covered in mud, despair, and rain. They were all nearly covered with sludge. Dorian felt uncomfortably damp and had already resigned himself to being miserable for the rest of the ride back until he could get in a bath. ‘Ever. Inquisitor, if I were you, I would order the entire area lost.’_

_‘Oh, it’s not so bad,’ Hawke remarked, his cloak already sodden with rain. Dorian had no idea how he remained so positive, but they’d hardly been able to wipe the smile off his face. ‘I’ve always been told I’m half-fish.’_

_‘Not to intrude on company, but you certainly smell like one.’ Both Vivienne and Hawke laughed at Dorian’s comment, even if Dorian wasn’t really joking. Suddenly, he felt Adaar’s hand on his shoulder. Everything went hazy for a second; Dorian had found himself unable to think around the Inquisitor in the past few weeks. Always the same thought: The Inquisitor wanted something? With him?_

_Dorian, a man usually confident in all things sex and conversation, found himself at a loss. But that was alright, he told himself. He’d done enough heroic things in front of Adaar for the man to know his worth, even if he was half-mute around him._

_‘Dorian, I found this with my things. Thank you for letting me borrow it, but if I pack it up with mine, I’ll never get it returned to you.’_

_Ah, yes. A copy of a Tevinter history text. Dorian didn’t have any idea why Adaar wanted it, but at least someone else was showing an interest in Tevinter around Skyhold. He took it with a smile, quipped, ‘Ah, thank you, perhaps now we have two people in favor of the Imperium’, and moved to put it with his things._

_A note fell out._

_Before it hit the muddy ground, Dorian snatched it up and opened it in confusion. Had Adaar been taking notes?_

_‘Even covered in dirt, blood, and rain, your charm and your beauty has me in pain.’_

_Upon reading it, Dorian coughed and hurriedly shoved it inside his cloak. It was bad. Terrible, even, ridiculous, soppy cliché poetry that he would’ve mocked anyone for mercilessly._

_And yet, at that specific moment, it was the most treasured thing in Dorian’s possession. Looking up, he made eye contact with Adaar across the camp, who half-waved at him with a beaming smile. Oh, Maker. He was in trouble._

The question had been burning in his mind since he’d stepped into Merrill’s bedroom. The massive mirror stood, ungodly tall and dark, looking like it needed a polish. As Dorian stood in front of it, he could see himself in the reflection. Maker, he needed a nice bath and some rest.

 

His hair and mustache were drooping after his unintended bath in the Waking Sea, a few shiny scars were visible from his collarbone, and he hadn’t had anyone tell him that his eyes were stunning in weeks. It was a terrible way to live.

 

“Family heirloom?” Dorian asked, gesturing to the mirror crammed in the corner of her bedroom. It was wildly out of place in the otherwise dim and dingy abode.

 

Bringing out the templar armor, Merrill glanced up at it. “Oh! No, it’s – well, it’s all very complicated. A long story. It’s an eluvian.”

 

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, you see, in Arlathan, the ancient elves made this network of mirrors. You could traverse the entire world in one, if it was in the right place and so on. An old friend of mine found a shard and I, well, rebuilt it. With help, of course, Hawke helped.”

 

“Network of mirrors?” Dorian asked with curiosity. “What happened to all of them? Surely … ? “

 

“Ehm, well, the elves sort of … got enslaved.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Awkwardly, Dorian paused before offering, “That was us. Sorry.”

 

“I – no harm done, really –”

 

“There was a certain bit of harm – “

 

“Not by you. I mean, in Hawke’s letters, you ran off away from the Imperium to spite your father. At least – well, Hawke makes everything sound very dramatic, you probably know,” Merrill chattered away, setting the templar armor in front of him. Dorian inspected it for a second, before Merrill started undoing Dorian’s shirt for him.

 

Well, this felt eerily similar to his parents’ estate in the Imperium, an elf helping him dress.

 

“I’ve got it, don’t feel like you have to – not that you don’t seem perfectly lovely, Merrill, but it’s just my shirt I need to take off?”

 

“They wear a skirt sort of thing, so you should be fine. The top bit is what’s heavy.” Pausing, Merrill asked, “So is it true? Why you ran away?”

 

Dorian peeled off his coat and let it fall on the bed. Suddenly, he was stripping in a strange elven woman’s home in front of an ancient mirror and hoping to infiltrate the Circle as a templar. He wondered if Merrill and Fenris’ life was always this strange. No wonder Hawke was so odd. “I. It happened for a variety of reasons. I probably was going to get tossed out of the Imperium sooner or later, regardless.”

 

“Oh, you? But you’re so charming!”

 

“Ha. Charming only gets you so far, I’m afraid.” Dorian shrugged his shoulders. “I heard of the Inquisition trying to save the world, and I thought to myself that that seems a bit important, especially considering my former mentor was trying to rend it, too. With the added bonus of proving to everyone that the Imperium has potential. We’re not all slavers and magisters. I adore Tevinter, but I knew I could do more help for it if I was away.”

 

Merrill hummed as she prepared the under-armor slip, raising it up and letting it fall over Dorian’s shoulders. “I understand. Well, sort of. The Dalish aren’t exactly – as far as I know, we never enslaved or tried to murder an entire race,” To that, Dorian winced again, before she continued, “But when I met Hawke, I knew I had to help restore my clan’s history. I mean, I was more-or-less getting kicked out. Temporarily. But I wanted to help.”

 

Suddenly, something clicked in Dorian’s brain. “Kicked out. Due to the blood magic?”

 

Something shifted in Merrill’s form. The armor was being held over his head, and Dorian suddenly had a vivid idea that she was going to drop it on him. Might knock him out, that way.

 

After a second, though, she gently placed it on him and started at the buckles. “Ah. Yes. The blood magic. In a way, but – “ Sighing, Merrill went to his side to focus on securing the armor. “Dorian, have you ever been driven to do something … well, not very good, except you really don’t think it’s that bad at the time, but suddenly everyone treats you like you’re a different person for it?”

 

Had he ever. Dorian suddenly felt an immense connection. “You … could say so, yes.”

 

“I don’t approve of consorting with demons, of course, but I needed to restore the mirror and there didn’t seem to be any other way.”

 

Dorian sighed, giving a nod. “And … you never let the demon possess you?”

 

“Of course not!” Merrill was indignant. “There’s – well, once you use blood magic, you have these dreams. The demon acts like they’ve paid you, you owe them something, and suddenly like you’re the bad guy. But it’s a conscious choice, you know, to lose yourself to the demon. And I never wanted that.”

 

He felt his throat get dry, and he nodded. “Of course not. And you still seem … fine.”

 

“I am!” It was a little louder than usual, as if convincing herself. “If people just trusted me, things would’ve been – “ She shook her head, placing one hand on Dorian’s abdomen and the other on his back. He felt a bit of warmth, there, and then the prodigiously large armor began to shrink. Good. “Sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

 

“No, it’s, er, healthy.” A few awkward seconds passed between them, with Dorian trying to desperately think of something else to say. He could expose himself – _yes, Merrill, I was driven to blood magic, too, and yes, I’m struggling with immense guilt over it, and yes, I’m having horrid dreams because of it, and it’s so good to get some sort of redemption from you, that I did the right thing, that I shouldn’t be treated like a pariah for it, thank you, thank you._

 

Or he could not.

 

“So, I have Carver to thank for this armor? I’m sorry it’s getting ruined by the spell.” Dorian cooed, changing the subject dramatically and awkwardly. Merrill pulled her hands away from the armor and instead held the skirt out to Dorian.

 

“No need to apologize for it, really. He’s not even a templar, anymore. Before he became a Grey Warden, he came to me, and – “ Merrill tinged a little red, again. “Well, basically, he would’ve sold it if it wouldn’t have immediately outed him as a templar. So he asked me to keep it. Sell it piecewise, maybe, for the scraps. And, I don’t know, I like keeping it there, a little part of him.” Shrugging her shoulders, Merrill went to pull down his skirt. “Not that it isn’t entirely creepy some nights to have a templar uniform looking like it’s floating in the corner of your room.”

 

With that, the transformation appeared to be complete.

 

Merrill stepped away from him, regarding his figure. As she did, Dorian looked into the mirror.

 

Well, that was … terrifying. He wished he could show everyone in Skyhold. Dressed like a templar. And to think, a few years ago, he was a bright, passionate young researcher who thought of nothing but continuing his magic and saving the Imperium.

 

“You look nice,” Merrill forced out.

 

Dorian shrugged, looking around as Merrill disappeared off towards the main room. “Do you think the other groom is getting cold feet?”

 

Whether Merrill heard or appreciated his joke, Dorian didn’t know, but the elf soon returned with Fenris’ greatsword in hand. “He must’ve left it for you. He doesn’t normally – you know, he’s very aware of his surroundings.”

 

Dorian took the sword and, with a grunt, strapped it against his back and looked in the mirror again. Well, he looked like he’d just gotten back from a midday mage-killing stroll. This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on a weekly update schedule instead of the crazy daily schedule before. I'm seeing all of your comments and kudos, and I really appreciate it, thank you!


	9. A Walk Through Hell

“Just like old times, eh, Varric?”

 

“You’ll excuse me if I’m not jumping up and down for joy, Chuckles,” Varric grumbled as they all sat around the exquisite hellscape known as the Fade.

 

Adaar was quietly trying not to lose it.

 

Adamant had gone – well. About as well as could be expected, when a giant red lyrium dragon was in the mix. Adaar had gone silent, quietly sitting on some metaphysical log in the middle of nowhere. Sera was next to him, rocking back and forth, hands in her hair. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she repeated, over and over, in a soft voice.

 

Cassandra and Alistair had their swords drawn, as if staking out a perimeter on the edge of their gathering spot. Adaar knew he needed to go up and join them, he was the leader, but … this was so much. He needed some time just to breathe, because Maker, this was something that the Chantry explicitly warned against doing. Entering the Fade was the reason why the world was _fucked,_ if he remembered that terrifying lesson from the Chantry as a child.

 

 

Raising a hand, he placed it on Sera’s knee as a way of comfort. “ _Fuck_ the Fade,” Sera finished her rant, looking up at her friend. “Fuck it, Adaar.”

 

Yes, he agreed. Wholly. This was not a place he was supposed to be. Looking up at the sky, Adaar saw a mess of green and blue and purple and, not for the first time since he’d arrived at Adamant, he wished Dorian were there.

 

No – fuck that. As much fondness as he had for Dorian, Dorian knew shit about the Fade. He wished Solas were there. Solas probably knew exactly how to get out and where to go and the only mage they had here was Hawke, who was looking up at the Fade like he was greeting an old friend. Adaar had felt a fledgling kinship with the man – both men courting men, not highly common even in Skyhold – but now he was positive that the man was insane.

 

“Remember when you betrayed me in the Fade last time?”

 

“Now, let’s not air our dirty laundry here in front of guests. I said I was very sorry.”

 

“Will you two take this seriously for one second?” Cassandra shot back, turning away from Alistair to face the comedy troupe. “Champion. You’ve been to the Fade before. How did you exit?”

 

“I sort of had help. And I wasn’t here, you know, physically. More of a dream to scrape a demon out of a boy’s mind.”

 

Alistair piped up, turning towards everyone. “The last time people were here physically, they caused the first Blight – I mean, according to the Chantry.” Everyone nodded knowingly, except for perhaps Sera, whose hands dug further into her hair.

 

Adaar stood from his spot, glancing out over the distance. It felt humid and swampy as he looked over the dim landscape. Every so often, great creaking groans crashed through the air. Wisps flitted by here and there; whether they were sentient souls or just energy, Adaar had no idea. Surely this couldn’t be where people _went_ when they died, to find a place by the Maker’s side. There was no greater motivator to stay alive than the Fade.

 

“Nobody make any deals with any demons,” Adaar commanded hollowly. Varric gave him a look of ‘no shit, Sherlock’, and hoisted his crossbow. “We’ve got to get back to Adamant, in any way possible. Just … keep walking, and we all stay together. Okay?”

 

The others looked at each other uncertainly, unsheathing their weapons to various degrees. Hawke’s staff was held in the crook of his arm, the man leaning as if he was assessing Adaar’s leadership ability. Sera remained on the ground, and Adaar turned to look down at her.

 

“I know you can do this, Sera. Just – imagine them as head-up-their-ass nobles.”

 

Sera took a deep, shuddering breath. Adaar had seen her upset like this on one or two other occasions – they were saving the world, Maker knew that he had seen everyone like that on one or two other occasions – but it was the first time she’d let herself be seen like this by other people. He held out a hand to her to help her up.

 

“Cocksniffing nobles,” Sera hissed, standing up and clutching an arrow in her hand. They were set.

 

\--

 

There had been a decent amount of culture shock when Dorian had fled the Imperium. He had left it before, of course, had been nearly everywhere in Thedas to study or vacation or any matter of things. Frankly, he always had intentions to go back to Nevarra, appreciated the culture of Antiva, and felt halfway at home in Orlais. Still, to go there as a tourist was different, to be cast out into Ferelden was an adjustment.

 

He had managed decently, of course. People ate this at these times, people weren’t fond of using magic in public, people allowed dogs in the house. It hadn’t been hard.

 

In the Kirkwall Circle, however, Dorian felt like he’d walked into another world.

 

He had managed to sneak in easily enough. Clad in armor, he had made his way through Lowtown to Hightown and then into the Gallows and then into the Circle behind a lovely-looking blond chap who he had to view twice to make sure it wasn’t Cullen. And then he was there, and nobody seemed to mind his movements much.

 

He had been shocked by the smell of stale death as soon as he walked in.

 

Surely all Circles couldn’t be like this.

 

He had expected the cement and high ceilings and general coldness, but … the _red lyrium._

 

It grew through the walls, it touched the floors, he had half mistaken it for a mosaic in the ceiling of the hallway. The entire place was uncomfortably warm as a result, and Dorian had the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a stove.

 

“It’s gotten worse over the past few weeks,” a templar chirped by his side, a young woman with red hair. It was as if she appeared by magic; Dorian felt himself jump. “Sad, really. Before all this – I don’t think I’ve seen you before. New recruit?”

 

Dorian felt himself go still for a second, before finding his words and putting on his best Maker-given-Free-Marches-accent that he could at all manage. _Bind your tongue, Dorian._  “Yes, new recruit. I haven’t seen this before the … the fighting. Was it better?”

 

“Better? In a way. Less – you know. Lyrium involved. Colder, it was always … you could hear the wind whistling through the hallways, then, most of this was all opened up to the sky. And it was easier to fall asleep.”

 

Dorian wanted to bring up that perhaps they ought to consider moving the Circle, or better yet, eradicating this place completely, but he felt that might just be enough to blow his cover. The templar beside him shook her head and asked, “Either way, I – I need to go help with a Harrowing. Could you help? I couldn’t find any other templars around.”

 

A Harrowing. Dorian had heard of those, and he felt his blood turned to ice. Suddenly, the weight of Fenris’ greatsword on his back increased tenfold. Could he really kill a mage for his cover? For knowledge? He had murdered many people before, but –

 

He couldn’t really say no, could he?

 

“Uh, yes, of course. Lead the way. I’m Templar – Templar Halward,” Dorian stuttered out, saying the first name that came to mind.

 

“You must’ve been outside the Gallows, then, I’ve not heard of you. But they’ve been keeping so many people out lately … keeping them in doesn’t do very well, over time. Go a bit batty. Here, let’s go.” As they started to walk, Dorian started to note strange movements within the templar. She swayed, as if she were inebriated, and occasionally had to hold the wall for strength or guidance. There was just the faintest red tinge in her face.

 

Well, that was that, then. As soon as he came back to Skyhold, he was going to march up to Adaar and demand that they tear down the Circle brick by brick. This was inhumane and vile and Andraste’s tits, did a lot of political nonsense make sense now.

 

Of course, that line of thinking was squashed quickly – _I’m not going back to Skyhold. I’ll write a strongly worded letter to Adaar about how he should eradicate the Circle, but I can’t tell him in person._

 

They travelled through the Gallows. Dorian heard the wind whistle through the hallways, but after a while, he couldn’t tell whether it was the wind or the red lyrium itself starting to whistle its tune in his ear.

 

They walked past the cells, letting Dorian peer in. Most were empty, if not completely destroyed. The ones that had occupants made Dorian recoil. Mages, sitting in what looked to be tiny boxes with long, tall ceilings covered in red lyrium. As far as he could tell, the lyrium was growing from the ceiling down and Dorian wondered how much the mages felt like they were slowly, slowly getting crushed underneath it.

 

He wanted to blast all the doors open, like some big damn hero, and waltz out of there with all the books that he could carry and a bunch of adoring mages at his back.

 

 _If there’s any lesson you should learn from this entire mess,_ Dorian told himself, _it is that you are not the hero, Templar Halward, and you should stop trying to be._

 

Purpose realized, Dorian kept his head down and followed this young templar.

 

\--

 

“Is this really where you go after you die? Because it’s shit,” Adaar grumbled, glancing around at the ghoulish statues. He had wanted to keep positive, but the weight of the Nightmare was crashing down upon him. There were just so many things that Adaar was frightened of. His hand went up to tug at his horn.

 

“Perhaps we are already dead. The Chantry teaches that people should not be able to go into the Fade in their physical form. Are you certain we fell through a tear?”

 

“I’m not an expert on this,” Adaar wiggled his fingers at her, “But I’d remember falling and breaking every bone in my body.”

 

Cassandra seemed to relent at that, walking up front with him. All of Adaar’s thoughts were a mess – they had met someone that was likely the Divine, or maybe she wasn’t, and he had found some memories of his lying around, and this wasn’t something he could fight or punch or yell at or lead. He was at a loss and he hoped they weren’t expecting stunning leadership.

 

“Hi, um,” Alistair raised his hand a little, jogging up to the duo. “If – I mean, if we’re all actually dead, or if we don’t all make it out of this – “

 

“Are we drawing up wills, now? I want to join.” Hawke went to Adaar’s other side. “I’d like to give my entire wealth to my mabari, Winter, and my staff to Fenris. Someone’s writing this all down?”

 

“Winter?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. “We had a mabari named Barkspawn. Why Winter?”

 

“You grew up in Ferelden. You ever heard the phrase ‘Winter took a shit at my door’?”

 

Adaar raised a hand tiredly. “ _Enough._ We’re not dead, we’re not making wills, and I’m sure both of your dogs are the best. Now, if we can just –”

 

“Thank the Maker, I finally found all of you!”

 

Sera, Varric, Alistair, Hawke, and Cassandra’s head all turned towards the new voice. And there, coming up over a hill, was Dorian Pavus.

 

He looked like hell. Clad in dirty, bedraggled rags, his hair was messy and his mustache was limp. The man was sporting several healing injuries, including (but not limited to) what looked like a massive bitemark on his exposed leg.

 

Immediately, Adaar’s heart broke. Was this what they’d sent Dorian to? Didn’t they make sure he had money, supplies on him?

 

“Dorian?” Sera asked first, going up to him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I – I travelled here, I had to talk to all of you, urgently. Corpyheus, he’s … he’s moved up in schedule. Follow me!” Dorian was looking between all of them like a caged animal before scampering forward and taking Adaar by the arm. “Amatus, _please.”_

 

He should have known something was wrong. He should have. But at that time, it had been months since he’d sent Dorian out and just to see him again affected him in ways that he hadn’t expected. When Dorian took his arm, Adaar reached forward and cupped his cheek to examine a scar on his face. “Dorian, I … I’ve missed you. Are you okay?”

 

Dorian seemed to recoil for a second under the touch, before jerking Adaar forward again. “I’m _fine,_ you mothering ox, we just have to go. I know the exit.”

 

Agreeing, Adaar let himself be led by Dorian’s hand. The party followed behind him. He detected unease, confusion, but Dorian seemed driven enough that he didn’t think to ask what was going on. Besides, Adaar felt himself charmed by the man, just inspecting him.

 

_We can bring him back. Make it seem like he was the one who got me out of the Fade, make people realize what a hero he is._

 

He had a fanciful little idea in his head that stopped when Dorian dragged them to an empty clearing, save for what was probably a hundred or so skeletons.

 

‘This isn’t the way out, Dorian,” Sera complained, going beside them.

 

Hawke stepped forward, chiming in. “Ah – not to, er, start a lover’s quarrel, but I don’t think that’s Dorian.”

 

Adaar’s head snapped to Hawke, offended. “ _What!?”_

 

Reacting, Dorian shoved Adaar back. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to make him budge an inch. Dorian was not a withering pole, but he was still human (even Cassandra could only make him flinch). This, though, caused Adaar to go falling back onto his ass.

 

Something was wrong.

 

This Dorian started to shift, grow, and mutate. Adaar watched in horror as Varric and Sera aimed their weapons on either side of him, letting a few arrows fly, and Maker _help_ him, he wanted to tell them to stop, still.

 

Being Inquisitor, he couldn’t let himself be commanded by emotions. He’d already failed once with that near-massacre in Emprise du Lion. The past few months had been working towards Adamant, to further the Inquisition, but watching this demon Dorian … his body ached with how much he missed him.

 

Still. He had a duty.

 

Forcing himself up from the ground, Adaar reached for his axe as the demon cackled at his futility.

 

\--

 

Apparently, being a templar meant a lot of dull waiting around.

 

His fears about the Harrowing were starting to dissipate. The mage was still, staring up at the ceiling, at nothing, and Dorian had thought _these backwards savages_ more than once as he leaned against the greatsword idly. It was bizarrely ritualistic.

 

These things were handy. Built-in leaning tool.

 

This chamber seemed to be affected by the red lyrium more completely than the rest, with entire swaths of it inaccessible from the pulsing red stone. What was most worrying, of course, was the pool of water surrounding the stuff. They had scooped up some of it, fed it to the mage, and started the ritual.

 

“Isn’t that, er, infected?” Dorian had asked as the mage whimpered in fear. “The red lyrium – “

 

“It’s infused with lyrium. Blue lyrium, it helps the process along, gets them into the Fade. Straight blue lyrium causes madness, so we dilute it down.”

 

“As it happens, so does _red lyrum._ Which is in the _water.”_ Dorian’s accent slipped a little in his annoyance. The templars all laughed.

 

“Then it’ll be purple!”

 

And that was that. Dorian watched in despair as the mage was fed the tainted water.

 

For a while, though, things seemed to be going fine. Moonlight was filtering in through the slitted windows of the chamber, the templars were joking, and a few birds flew around the ceiling. It seemed oddly casual.

 

There wasn’t really a Harrowing in the Tevinter, Dorian considered. There was probably a lot of pomp and circumstance to live in the Circles there, but the idea of consorting with a demon to prove your moral worth seemed … bad. The Imperium definitely had it right, there.

 

“He’s taking too long, do you think should we – “

 

“It’s barely been fifteen minutes.”

 

“And the mage last week did it in ten. Any longer and it just means they’re consorting with it.”

 

“Look, if you want to unsheathe your sword, I won’t stop you. I’m just saying. Sometimes it takes longer.”

 

The templars all shifted on their feet for a few seconds, and Dorian only felt a faint sensation of horror. He needed to find the books he needed and leave, for the sake of the Maker, before he –

 

“Look! He’s waking!”

 

True to the templar’s word, the mage was starting to come out of it. He twitched for a second, before taking a dizzy step forward. “I – I’m – “

 

“Did he make a deal with a demon? Is it happening?”

 

The mage’s head was bowed, long golden hair falling down to his shoulders. Handsome, in a ‘I’ve been in a literal jail for probably eons’ sort of way. Dorian stepped forward when the mage looked like he was losing balance, and the mage, snarling, shoved him back.

 

The mage’s head lashed up, and his eyes were a glowing, fierce red.

 

Dorian felt his heart sink.

 

“He’s brought out the demon,” the templars hissed in various tones of anger and fear, drawing their swords. Dorian saw the mage stumble forward, again, bearing his teeth at them. And yet, there was no movement to go to magic. Not yet. The mage was just _angry._

 

And even if the man was petite and blonde and perhaps the thorough opposite of Adaar, they had one thing in common: the rage of red lyrium.

 

Not demons.

 

The mage stepped a few feet forward more before collapsing on the floor, either thoroughly exhausted from his ordeal or both.

 

“Wait!”

 

It ripped out of Dorian’s throat before he could get his accent under control, and he stepped forward in front of the mage. Exposing his hands to the templars, the mage went still beneath his feet.  “He hasn’t summoned anything. It’s the lyrium he drank. I’ve read on this, he’ll be fine in a few hours,” His chest was heaving in effort and fear. “I swear it.”

 

As a young child, if anyone had told him that he’d ever be defending a mage’s life in front of a row of sword-bearing templars … it wasn’t _like_ that in Tevinter.

 

The templars hesitated with their hands in their weapons, before the woman who had led him in remarked, “Better safe than sorry, Templar Halward, we don’t want another instance of Orsino.”

 

“If he were possessed, he would’ve attacked us all by now. Look,” he argued, gesturing to the red lyrium sprouting from the ceiling. “There’s so few mages here already. We kill any more and we risk people turning against us. _Again._ Let’s wait until we’re positive, shall we?”

 

The templars all looked at one another with all the confidence of a group that had lost their leader, their second-in-command, and all the way down.

 

“I. Post a templar with the surgeon,” the female templar stuttered, before pointing at Dorian. “You. If you’re so confident, you watch over him.”

 

 They all sheathed their swords. Dorian’s shoulders dropped in relief, and he sheathed his sword with difficulty. Looking down at the collapsed mage, Dorian moved to pick him up. With the bulky templar armor, the most he could do is sling his arm over his shoulder and try to lead him. The mage moaned and tried to stand under his weight, to no avail.

 

The templars were looking at him with distrust and suspicion, but Dorian was thankful that they made no moves to attack. The mages shoes dragged across the floor as Dorian carted him off.

 

 

 

They all stood around the dead demon, staring down at it as it started to wither away into the rest of the Fade. The Envy demon had gone down easily enough with so many people, even if the strategy had been a little fuzzy.

 

“So, um, this Dorian,” Alistair quipped. “Friend of yours?”

 

“He wasn’t a demon when I last saw him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Adaar remarked, groaning and running his hands over his face. He’d been so stupid. Of course Dorian wasn’t here, couldn’t come here. But just for a second, he’d been a stupid lovesick Qunari at the simple sight of his lover. “He’s my, er – “

 

“Dorian is the man that Adaar is courting.” Cassandra was picking through the ashes of the demon, occasionally pocketing something here or there. Adaar went red. “Privately. We had to send him away when he performed blood magic.”

 

“ _Blood magic!?”_ Hawke spluttered out, looking down at Varric. “You failed to mention that, you little – “

 

Sera was there, shoving her bow against Hawke’s chest. She went to the demon, glared down at it, and kicked it once in what was probably once its crotch. After she was done, she looked back up and glared at Hawke. “He was saving Adaar’s life, thanks, so keep your brain biscuits to yourself.”

 

Alistair and Hawke looked incredulously at the Qunari, their face full of a thousand questions. The blush on his face turned to hot shame. “I – I was compromised with red lyrium. Dorian restrained me the only way he could. He saved my life. All of our lives.”

 

There was a few seconds of silence between them. Adaar was the one to break it, continuing on.

 

“As it is, it doesn’t matter. He was sent away and we still have to get out of here. If anyone sees anyone they care about, stick an arrow in them and save us all the trouble.”

 

There was an uneasy agreement. Alistair and Hawke looked like they were truly faced with the idea of killing the person they loved, even hypothetically, and their spirits dampened.

 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Varric broke in. “Dorian’s resourceful, above everything else. I think he would’ve fit in well with us, Hawke.”

 

“I don’t know if Fenris would’ve liked a Tevinter, unfortunately.” At Adaar’s raised eyebrow, Hawke clarified, “Escaped slave.”

 

He only dimly knew of the relationship attachments of their two temporary guests. Hawke with the escaped slave, Fenris. Alistair, with the Hero of Ferelden, a young elven mage escaped from the Circle.

 

“You haven’t spoken with the Hero of Ferelden lately, have you?” Adaar broke in suddenly, pointed at Alistair.

 

Alistair seemed surprised by the question, but answered readily. “I. No, not for a long while. She writes letters every now and then, not as often as – well, as I’d like, but there’s not much to be done. She has a responsibility.”

 

“But you know you’ll be with her, again. Someday.”

 

“It’s – more complicated and more romantic than that, but yes, I think I will be. That’s what you always have to think, with your love.”

 

Sera gagged in the background. Varric looked like he was having a minor religious experience.

 

“No matter what’s going on,” Alistair continued, “I’ll never be able to think that I’ll never see her again. Some day, somewhere, there’s going to be a nice little fire going for her and I.”

 

The only indication that Adaar gave was a grunt, before shouldering on into the Fade.

 

 

 

 

_Dorian had more or less made himself at home in Adaar’s quarters. He was reading a manuscript on Adaar’s bed while the man himself leaned against his balcony to examine a letter. At some point, the switch from only-in-here-to-fuck to relaxing-with-a-lover had been made. It was good. He’d never casually enjoyed the presence of someone he’d slept with._

_Every so often, his eyes would flick up to gaze at Adaar over his book. It was more of a twitch, really. Adaar caught him and gave him a smile. ‘Something on my face?’_

_‘No. Just thinking that you look right at home here.’_

_‘Shouldn’t I be?’_

_‘I’d think less of you if you didn’t.’ Dorian’s eyes returned to the book, flipping a page. ‘I was just idly wondering where you plan to go after we stop the end of the world. Besides the Fade, of course.’_

_‘I thought only Nevarrans were that morbid.’_

_‘Realistic. Still, humor me. Where do you plan to go?’ It was more than a hypothetical. On the off chance they both lived, Dorian had thought about returning to Tevinter, where, of course, Adaar could not go. But … still._

_The bed suddenly sank down beside him as Adaar crawled onto it, and suddenly, he had a Qunari straddling his lap in front of his book. As Adaar’s hands rested  on either sides of his neck, Dorian put it to the side. ‘I haven’t thought about it too much, figured I’ll see where the need is when it’s all over. But, if I’m being honest … ‘ Adaar suddenly trailed off to lean down and kiss him sweetly while Dorian’s heart soared. ‘I’d prefer to be with you.’_

 

Ditching the mage with the Tranquil surgeon had been no issue. Dorian had watched over him for a few minutes, hesitating, before fleeing the area towards the nearby library. He felt like his time was running out. The templars were already suspicious of him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d have before running out. And Maker knew, when he left, he was never going to come back to this cursed place.

 

He was rifling through the papers like a madman, sticking a few inside of his breastplate. Templars didn’t exactly use anything relating to _books,_ apparently, because there wasn’t even a damn pocket inside the thing.

 

Anything that looked even dimly like the Imperium, blood magic, or ancient elves went inside of his armor, and Dorian was absorbed.

 

“Templar Halward?”

 

Jumping about a foot in the air, Dorian slammed the book down as he turned.

 

It was the mage. Elgar, a name that Dorian wasn’t sure was related to elven culture or just an odd coincidence. The Tranquil had known his name.

 

When he turned to stare, he found that his silver tongue had turned to lead. Dorian was tired of lying, and he couldn’t think of a plausible excuse to be searching through the lyrium-studded library.

 

“I wanted to say thank you.”

 

Figuring that he could use his fake authority as an excuse to be rude, Dorian turned his back on him and continued rifling through papers. No reason to bluff, now. “No thanks necessary. You passed your Harrowing, no demons involved. Congratulations.”

 

“You’re not a templar, are you?”

 

Best to start rifling through the papers faster.

 

“It’s alright, I’m not going to – to tell anyone, obviously, I was just, er. It’s not often that people break _into_ the Circle. Where are you from?”

 

 _Tevinter. Your mother’s arse._ “The Inquisition?”

 

Elgar’s face crinkled a little in confusion. “What’s that, exactly?”

 

Wonderful. These mages probably didn’t know the world was ending if they didn’t know the organization set on stopping it. Dorian suddenly had a very dark vision of the world ending with mages cowering in their cells like rats. All the more reason to continue with his work. “An evil Tevinter magister is set upon destroying the world using ancient magics. As a short version.”

 

When Dorian turned around to go to another shelf, he caught sight of Elgar. It looked like the man wasn’t sure whether to go call more templars or piss himself with fear. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“No, I just, um – ‘ Elgar took a deep pause, before asking, “Where are you going? After this?”

 

“As far away from this shithole as possible, pardon my Common.”

 

“Can I go with you?” As the mage suddenly stepped forward, Dorian stepped back defensively. “I won’t follow for long, I promise, I just – if you’re leaving, and you snuck out, I could, too. Please, sir.’

 

It was smart and rational to say no. Dorian wanted to, very badly, because he needed to escape as soon as possible and Dorian never did well with a sidekick, anyway. But his mind flashed back to the mages in the cells, and Dorian stared at Elgar’s earnest fucking face, and he felt himself give up with a sigh.

 

“ _Yes,_ fine. Only out of Kirkwall and then you can find your own way.”

 

The mage’s face split into a grin so wide that a few sparks came out of his fingers and set the nearby manuscript on fire. Stepping on it, Elgar squeezed his hands together and gestured to a bookcase. “You’re not going to regret this, I promise.”

 

“I’m starting to regret it already. Control yourself.”

 

“Of course! Yes, of course! I just – I’ve been in the library a lot, and if you’re looking at ancient magics, I found the most, er, fascinating piece, I can translate it for you, if you want, my mother taught me how to speak elven languages, and it’s a really fascinating bit on Eluvians, so – “

 

Holding out one hand to the eager mage, Dorian felt himself age a dozen years. “Let’s start at the beginning, Elgar. What in Andraste’s arse is an Eluvian?”

 


	10. The Trouble with Magic

Dorian was sitting at the table of the Circle library, his head in his hands.

 

Demons? Right, fine, he knew about those, they visited his dreams every night. Tevinter magisters? He knew a few personally, this one was just a very _old_ one. A magic orb of unimaginable power that was somehow turned into a paperweight by a mark on his lover’s hand? Odd, but a good story to tell at parties.

 

Magical mirrors that could somehow transport someone beyond the Veil?

 

It didn’t make sense on so many levels of arcane history. Transportation was impossible. It had been a field of study since the early, early ages and had been fundamentally disproven by magisters, mathematicians, and rowdy schoolboys.

 

Then again, he had assisted in creating time travel. Perhaps the rules were a bit … squiggly.

 

“And then most of them were destroyed when we, er, murdered the elves. It’s funny, really, according to the manuscript it’s not that hard to activate them. Bit of a hard situation, I’m half-elf, but I suppose I look human, and who says that half-elves didn’t aid in the murder of the Dali – “

 

“Please,” Dorian moaned weakly, staring across at Elgar’s eager face. “This is all very exciting, Elgar, but I think I’ve heard enough for one day.”

 

Elgar shut his mouth. The ancient manuscript was dangling from his hand.

 

Normally, Dorian would be excited at this magical phenomena … but now, all he could think about was how Corypheus had an additional card to use against them. Like he didn’t have enough, already.

 

Eglar shifted between his feet for a second, looking curious.

 

Brushing off his templar skirt, Dorian stood. “At the very least, that tells us where we’re going next.”

 

“Does it?” Elgar’s face lit up. “You found an eluvian?”

 

“Me? No. I was someone very lucky who met someone who found an eluvian.”

 

“I thought they were all destroyed!”

 

“All except one, let’s hope. If you know how to open it, it may just give us a chance.” And please, Maker alive, let there be only one. Elgar’s description made it seem like a doorway – one way in, one way out. That would work just fine for Dorian. Get in, examine Corypheus’ tracks as much as possible, and get out. He had come too far to back out now. And, Maker willing, he would be able to stick a finger in and find a plan entitled ‘Corypheus Doom Plot’ to snatch.

 

He looked around the library with a wary eye. It was deserted. The noise that had been only faintly audible when he’d first come in was louder, now, enough that Dorian had to press a few knuckles to his temples to be able to think. How did people like Elgar manage, who had been there for so long, with the red lyrium pounding at their brains?

 

Looking back on it, he wondered how many Tranquil mages – or ones in a shallow grave – had merely been corrupted by the lyrium, and not by demons. It was depressing.

 

Dorian restrapped Fenris’ sword to his back and glanced towards the exit. Surely … walking back through the front wouldn’t arouse suspicion, even if he was supposed to be examining Elgar in the sickbay.

 

“Do we have a plan?” Elgar seemed nervous. Dorian figured he had good reason.

 

“Walking out the front door wouldn’t be too difficult for a templar, I expect.”

 

Elgar twitched for a second, true fear on his face. “But – I thought – “

 

Maker help him. As subservient and eager as the boy was, what kind of monster would leave him behind? Dorian saw perhaps a little bit of himself in him as a young man (not that he was too terribly old, now) and resigning him to this torture seemed inhuman. Dorian turned towards him, put a hand on his shoulder, and promised, “I won’t be leaving you behind.” The hand was taken back. “But, as it happens, they’re not going to be too pleased at letting a mage just leave through the front door, even with templar supervision.”

 

“No … no, definitely not.” Elgar’s spirits dimmed. “The only time they let mages out in the courtyard, now, is if they’re Tranquil. Nobody else allowed out.”

 

Tranquil. Dorian’s eyes considered Elgar for a second, before asking conversationally, “Elgar, how are your acting skills?”

 

\---

 

The Nightmare lay dead at their feet, but the battle was by no means over. Adaar wrenched his axe out of the big creature’s skull and looked over at his friends, as the spiders started crawling closer. _Spiders,_ he thought with a shudder. Of all the things to be there, it had to be spiders.

 

“A rift’s opened!” He called out to the rest, making a grand, sweeping gesture for them to run. And they all sprinted to the giant rift opening in the sky. It seemed too good to be true.

 

Sera made it through the Rift first, leaping through. Cassandra made it next, with Varric only close behind. Looking around at Hawke and Alistair, they all looked around at the encroaching demons. Adaar knew the look on their face.  Someone was going to have to stay behind and they were already deliberating.

 

Adaar wasn’t having it today.

 

“I – “ Alistair started, before Adaar cut him off and gave him a shove forward.

 

“ _There are no heroes today!_ Just go!”

 

There just wasn’t time to argue. The three men all stared at each other, and Adaar liked to think that their beloveds all flashed through their heads at the moment, about how painful it would be to leave them behind – although it was probably closer to the truth that they were thinking about the most efficient way to decapitate a spider to escape with their skins.

 

At the end, as Alistair and Hawke would say later, crowded around the War Table with disapproving advisors standing by, it was a matter of speed. Alistair may have been burdened by heavy armor, but he still needed to be quick on his feet with a shield and sword. Hawke may have been in fractionally less good shape than Alistair or Adaar, but he was a robe-wearing mage.

 

Adaar was a muscle-bound Qunari who had a great heavy waraxe strapped to his back.

 

Nobody bothered looking back. Hawke vaulted into the rip, and then Alistair, and Adaar’s fingers just barely managed to touch in before –

 

The massive, dozen-legged spider crashed down in front of him. The rip was forced close from the weight of it all as the dust cloud swept Adaar off his feet.

 

Well, good to know he could still bleed in the Fade. Adaar felt blood in his nose as he pushed himself up, staring at the giant spider in front of him, edging its way closer. The pointed legs of the creature were as sharp as knives, and Adaar thought of the thousand times when Dorian had teased him about being scared of the tiny things. If only Dorian could see it now.

 

Panic didn’t sweep him yet. Rips closed and open all the time, the giant spider was more of an immediate threat. He’d figure out a way to get home. Now, he had something hairier to deal with. Spitting onto the ground, Adaar pushed himself to stand and unsheathed his axe to face the giant spider.

 

He knew how to do this.

 

\--

 

Elgar was silent, head bowed, besides him. The orange sunburst had been painted on by Dorian himself, but he had conjured a little flame to burn the surrounding skin a little to make it authentic. The mark of the Tranquil was burned onto the skin, that was how it was done. _That_ hadn’t been the proudest moment in Dorian’s life, and he felt his gut drop with the way Elgar whimpered when he did it.

 

_Right, when this is all over, I’m going to get him a mabari puppy. Or a hug. A warm meal._

 

They went through the halls, and Dorian was faced with the view of the cells again. He occasionally looked back at his mage companion, who kept his face still and expressionless.

 

Ugh. He almost wanted the overenthusiasm back.

 

“Hang on, are you – Templar Halward, where are you going with that mage?”

 

The female templar that he’d followed rounded a corner and saw them, and Dorian flinched before turning around. Elgar turned, too, and the templar took a step back when she saw the brand on his head.

 

“You … the Rite of Tranquility?”

 

Elgar nodded minutely besides him, and Dorian took over. “Yes. Unfortunately, you lot were right, he woke up and immediately started raving about demons. Poor thing, but I suppose he is happier now. Aren’t you, Elgar?”

 

“Yes. I am filled with peace.” Elgar’s face was inscrutable. Scary, really.

 

The templar looked between them both, confusion spreading across her face. She looked a bit more dizzy, now, and Dorian wondered why – until the feeling started to creep on him, too. The lyrium was particularly thick, here, growing in the crevices of the walls like flowing water. It was quickly getting dark overhead, lit only by the lyrium’s faint red glow.

 

“You didn’t just kill him? But why?”

 

“Seemed a bit messy, really. He’s better at conversation, now.”

 

Stepping forward, the templar inspected Elgar’s face. Elgar’s eyes didn’t follow her, instead staring straight ahead at the wall in front of them. His breathing was slow and even. And still, Dorian felt like the young mage was still screaming internally.

 

Suddenly, the demeanor of the templar (and the room) changed like a clap of thunder.

 

Leaping backwards, the templar yanked her sword out of its sheath and brandished it at them.

 

Dorian’s heart sank. _Fuck._

 

The templar demanded, _“How did you perform the Rite of Tranquility?”_

 

“Why, by – like how it’s always done,” Dorian defended himself, holding up his hands in front of the templar. Elgar, Maker bless the boy, didn’t even flinch. “Severing a mage’s connection to the Fade.”

 

“By magic. There’s nobody here who can _do_ the Rite of Tranquility after Orsino became possessed!”

 

Dorian’s heart sank. _They didn’t teach the mage prisoners the Rite of Tranquility. Of course not. Why would they? They just kill any mage that disobeys._ There was his lie, out the window, and he looked at Elgar desperately for any sort of confirmation. He had planned to say that he’d picked up a mage who had done it, but now … Dorian glanced over at Elgar.

 

Quietly, slowly, Elgar raised his hands in surrender. “Templar Lorian, please – “

 

“Both of you. Put your weapons down and get closer.”

 

“Ha!” Dorian barked out a laugh – it came out fast, too fast, but he was nervous. This wasn’t going to end peacefully. “Do you really think _that’s_ going to happen?”

 

Templar Lorian said nothing, but went into charging stance. _Right, well, I didn’t really want to get into violence, but I suppose I can’t talk my way out of this one, can I?_

 

In one swift movement, Dorian sent a fireball sailing towards Templar Lorian. It hit her, square in the chest, and sent her flying backwards. He could her the ‘ _ching!’_ as her shield hit the floor with her on top of it.

 

For a second, the most absurd thought came to him. _The imprisonment blood magic spell. I could use it. Keep her trapped here, she can’t call for help, and we can both escape._ He squashed that line of thinking immediately. It was that line of thinking, he told himself, that led to some of the most flagrant abuses of blood magic in the Imperium. He did not need to use it. And it definitely wouldn’t send a good example for his young mage companion.

 

He was better than this. He may not have been a good man, but he was _better than that._

 

Maybe not better than freezing Templar Lorian to the floor (or freezing her armor, more like), but nobody could be perfect.

 

Dorian grabbed Elgar by the sleeve and ran for it.

 

\--

 

‘ _Alright, everyone, this is a spell. This is what magic is used for. Magic is what is stored in your body, somewhere near the kidneys.’ Dorian’s voice was monotone as he taught the class. As some of the mages started feeling around their abdomen for some sort of magic sac, though, Dorian’s lips split into a teasing smile._

_Normally, a Tevinter teaching magic to a group of newly conscripted mages would be unthinkable, but it was only for the day while the primary teacher got over an unfortunate accident involving Antivan liquor and a pretty lady. Adaar had asked him personally, which he still brimmed with pride about._

_He crossed forward the front of the class, before asking, ‘Alright, everyone. How many of you know of elemental magic?’_

_Everyone raised their hands._

_‘How many of you know how to perform an elemental spell with any degree of competence?’_

_Half the class lowered their hands among titters. Dorian chuckled._

_‘Fireball, then. Does anyone know how to perform a fireball?’ Everyone’s hands, save for two, went down. Dorian’s lip curled in distaste. What were they teaching these mages in Circles? Magic had to be expelled, one or way or another, and so long as it was done safely, it was one of the safest bits of magic there was. ‘You. Black hair. Up, let’s see what you can do. At me, if you would, I’ll have a ward up.’_

 

_Nervously, the mage approached. Dorian suspected that he would protest a bit more if they hadn’t all just been briefed by Commander Cullen about how the Inquisition might demand that they give their lives for the case. Bit morbid, that had been._

_Summoning a ward, Dorian held it in front of him. ‘Right, let’s not hold back, we’re all mages he—’_

_As the mage cast a fireball (a bit pitiful, in Dorian’s mind, but he’d cast enough pitiful fireballs in his day) at his ward, he heard the door creak open – and then several large slamming noises. There was a hand at his shoulder, suddenly._

_Dissipating the ward, Dorian looked behind him to see who it was. Before he got there, though, his student squeaked ‘Inquisitor!’_

_‘Is everything alright here?’ Adaar asked sternly. ‘Why were you shooting fireballs at Ser Pavus?’_

_Ser Pavus. Ooh. He could get used to that. As the mage went pale, Dorian turned to the class and announced, ‘There we are. To defend yourself against magic, you’ll have to learn wards – or get a very protective companion. Right, everyone, time to learn how to set things on fire.’_

_\--_

“This is _amazing.”_

 

“You’ve said.”

 

“It’s so much colder out here! But I can – it’s like I can finally think – “

 

“ _You’ve said.”_

 

“And you can just go out and buy things? They had some in the Gallows courtyard, but – “

 

Dorian groaned in agony, letting his head fall onto Merrill’s table. Maybe he hadn’t missed the enthusiasm.

 

They had fled from the Circle quickly enough after the initial commotion, and thankfully, no templars chasing down their doorstep yet. Dorian still felt a bit sick with anxiety – _Maker, you should have known that nobody would be around to conduct the Rite –_ but Elgar was perky.

 

He had to focus on the matter at hand.

 

With the information from the manuscript, Dorian knew that Merrill, consciously or no, was holding one of the most powerful artifacts in all of Thedas.

 

And he had to get into it.

 

If this was truly Corypheus’ doorway, then he had to explore it. To gather information and return out. If knowledge of its existence reached the Inquisition … well, he wouldn’t want Adaar to go in. No, Adaar was much too valuable to lose in case this turned out to be some sort of death door. Dorian had to go.

 

And frankly, escaping Elgar’s rambling was sounding more and more tempting. He was growing fond, but Maker alive.

 

“Ten years with the mirror, and the secret to unlocking it was in the Circle all this time,” Merrill sighed, wiping off her hands with a cloth as she retreated from her room. “Suppose it’s for best. Can you imagine _me,_ in a Circle?”

 

Watching Elgar in the Harrowing suddenly came to Dorian’s mind again, and he shuddered internally. “Let’s not imagine anyone in a Circle, for now. Can it be used?”

 

“I – I think I’d like to run some more tests on it. We don’t know where it’ll lead. Could be catastrophic.”

 

“The thing about that is,” Dorian remarked, removing his armor from over his head. “We’re rather running low on time. We don’t even know if it can be useful.”

 

“You’re not suggesting that we just head in, are you?” Elgar asked, undoing a few of his buckles for him. “That’s be … madness. That’d be insanity.”

 

“We? No. I told you I’d get you out. I don’t really have the money to send you all over Thedas, darling, but – “

 

“Oh, I know a ship captain.” Merrill chirped. “She can take you somewhere. At night, too, if you’re worried about the templars chasing after you.”

 

“Where will I go?”

 

There was a bit of a pause as they both turned to look at Dorian, world traveler, as he was struggling with his templar boot. “Go to Skyhold,” Dorian grunted, tossing it to the side. “They’ll have use for you there. And they’ll teach you how to use silverware.”

 

Elgar looked genuinely hurt. “I know how to use silverware.”

 

Throwing off the rest of his armor, Dorian ran his hands through his hair. “Point stands. If you want a place to feel needed, Skyhold is a veritable house of misfits.”

 

“That sounds familiar.” Pouring a little bit of tea, Dorian accepted it from the elf with a smile. “You, er, haven’t introduced your new friend, Dorian? He seems very emotive for a Tranquil.”

 

“Oh! No, I’m not Tranquil, it’s just how we got out. My name’s Elgar!” Elgar started to wipe off the paint.

 

“Elgar? Not like – are you – “

 

“My mother was an elf!” Elgar responded bashfully as Dorian gathered his armor in a pile. “She, er – she was a slave for a while, but she remembered a bit of the old gods. She knew that Elgar’nan was the god of vengeance and she was, er, angry about the whole slavery thing when she escaped, so she named me after him. Course, then she, ah, sent me away when I started showing magic. Scared her, I think.”

 

Merrill seemed to take the news in stride, before commenting, “Oh. We really wouldn’t do that in the clans, I don’t think, normally Elgar’nan – well, he’d strike you down for taking his name, he’s rather angry.”

 

Elgar visibly deflated as Dorian went to the mirror and considered it.

 

He could alert the Inquisition, let everyone haul arse to Kirkwall, and have them examine it. Maker knew what he’d find on the other side. Perhaps Corypheus himself, in which case he’d definitely die. Or he could find more information on how he was using it, or even – Maker grant him strength – keep him from travelling between mirrors this way.

 

Perhaps he’d gotten more destructive without the Inquisition on his back. Perhaps he was responsible for this revelation and didn’t want to hand the finale, so to speak, to someone else. Perhaps a little bit of him wanted to die trying to save the world. His hand went to brush against the surface of the mirror, feeling his fingers dip in just gently.

 

“Messere Pavus?” Elgar’s tiny voice was behind him then, and Dorian felt a thousand miles away. He had to leave, now, before he lost his nerve. “I … before you left, I wanted to say thank you.”

 

“For what? Getting you out of there?” Dorian’s voice was flat as he pushed his hand in entirely, marveling at how it simply disappeared. The other side felt … cold. “I’m always interested in becoming idolized, Elgar, but believe me, it was not compassion or altruism that saved you. It was convenience, nothing more.”

 

Elgar’s hand was at his back, then, and Dorian felt his face twitch with emotion. Maker, no, he was not crying in front of this near _boy._

 

He had seen Adaar play the hero, many times. Adaar, who _was_ a hero. Frankly, Dorian knew how to handle it, now. Smile, be humble, don’t request too many live sacrifices, nod and leave. He felt like he was on the last step, now.

 

“I’ll make sure that he gets back to the Inquisition,” Merrill promised, standing at his other side. “When you get back there, you’ll – you’ll write, of course? And tell me all about it? You have to. I mean, I’m not forcing you, but this is a _bit_ of my life’s work and the only reason I’m not following you in is – “ She waved her hand, gesturing to her tiny apartment. “I’m needed here, in the alienage, and Fenris would actually kill you if he found out I’m gone. So would a half-dozen other people.”

 

“In that case,  I’ll thank you for not accompanying me.” Dorian was in by his elbow now. “Thank you. The both of you. I’ll write you later and tell you all about my adventures, I’m sure.”

 

“And you’ll come see me at Skyhold, messere?” Elgar’s voice was heartbreakingly eager.

 

Dorian thought of Skyhold, of the high walls, of his plush lodgings, of the throne that watched out over the main room. And he lied. “Of course, dear boy.”

 

As Dorian pushed himself into the mirror, he could only think: _dear boy? I really am starting to sound like my father._

 

\--

 

“What do you _mean,_ the Inquisitor is gone?” Cullen, barely holding back his anger, demanded at the War Table.

 

Varric and Hawke shared a look of unease.

 

“He didn’t come through the tear with us, Curly,” Varric started, stepping forward and placing his hand on the map. “We waited, but it closed up.”

 

“Then what _happened_ to him?”

 

“The place was falling down around us, more or less, by the time Warden Alistair and I left.” Hawke pitched in. “Full of spiders. Big ones, too.”

 

As if he were getting a migraine, Cullen turned and squinted out the window. There was a bit of gray starting in his hair, Varric noted, which frankly – a long time coming.

 

They had lingered at Adamant only long enough to banish the Grey Wardens, figuring that the Inquisitor could very well call them back if he returned. Blackwall had gone with them, though – and Varric wasn’t altogether too certain if Cullen even knew of that yet, but it sounded like small potatoes – he had apparently vanished from the retreating Warden party before they even reached their destination.

 

Now, Cassandra was off dealing with the returning army and Sera was – who knew where Sera was. Sera had spoken only a few words the entire way back, and Varric was pretty sure she’d been drunk for most of it. He couldn’t blame her.

 

“So he’s stuck in the Fade, surrounded by demons.”

 

Cullen looked pale. When he turned back to face them, he wobbled on his feet enough that Varric and Hawke shared another look of concern. For the first time, Varric wondered how he was getting his lyrium. “Yes. But – it’s the Inquisitor, Curls. You know him. He’ll be okay. He’s a tough guy.”

 

“I don’t need to be _placated,’_ Cullen hissed, towering over the dwarf. Hawke put a hand on his friend’s shoulder as if to defend him. “Surviving is his dilemma. Getting him back is _ours.”_

 

“We’ll find something. I have a few mage contacts, those who survived from Kirkwall. And we have Morrigan, who may know something.”

 

“We’ll bring him back. We’ve faced worse odds,” Varric agreed, looking out over the War Table. “Course … people are going to start talking.”

 

“We can’t tell people that he’s been captured or went missing again,” Cullen seemed grave. “Using that excuse twice in so many months will only diminish people’s faith in the Inquisition. In the Inquisitor, himself.”

 

“Don’t suppose the truth’ll hold any merit? Hi, yes, he’s stuck in the Fade and we’re working on pulling him out?”

 

As Cullen turned towards Hawke, Varric had a strange feeling that Cullen was very close to drawing his weapon. “I don’t remember you being this _funny_ in Kirkwall, Champion.”

 

“You were a bit busy playing for the losing side to notice my humor, if _I_ remember.”

 

“Chuckles, Curly, maybe not start a fight in the War Table. It took that cartographer a month to make that pretty map.”

 

The two men stared at the dwarf for a second, then each other, before scowling and looking away. _Twins,_ Varric thought cynically. “Look, this is Ruffles’ area. We could tell everyone that we sent the Inquisitor on a secret mission to destroy some evil asshole or something.”

 

Cullen considered. “I … perhaps. Somewhere remote. Leliana could forge papers, if pressed.”

 

“There we go. Now let’s all put our toys away and fix this.”

 

 

 

 

“You idiotic brute,” Dorian growled at the demon towering above him, who chuckled and reached to spear him through the heart. A fireball was enough to politely convince him that that was a bad idea, but the claw of the thing still speared his cloak to the dusty earth.

 

He’d been wandering through the Fade for some time (hard to tell how long, given how nothing changed) when this thing had decided that he looked tasty. Frankly, he preferred the desire demons. Their company was better.

 

So far, no sign of Corypheus. Just the Fade, for ages and ages. And, unfortunately, the mirror had been a one-way ordeal. But it was fine. He’d find a way out. The Veil seemed to be more of a suggestion these days than a true rule.

 

Or, at least, he told himself that.

 

Rolling out of the way, Dorian cast another cascade of sparks at the creature. “I’m _busy,”_ he hissed again, casting another spell.

 

Someone was howling from the hill.

 

 

“Inquisitor,” Dorian breathed on impulse. _What the hell?_

 

As the Inquisitor slammed into the creature’s chest, they both roared in fury. Adaar clung onto the chest, climbing as best as he could to get to its head by yanking on its horns.

 

“ _Adaar?”_ Dorian shouted, brandishing his staff and freezing the creature’s legs to the ground. It tried to pull itself out, but in vain.

 

Adaar!? His mind was reeling. The last person he expected to see. _How did you get here!?_ He wanted to shout, but frankly, despite the Qunari’s presence … there was still the matter of the demon at hand.

 

Grabbing the creature about its neck, Adaar launched himself from the creature. Legs stuck to the ground, it had no choice but to keel over with Adaar’s chokehold. Keeping him pinned, Adaar withdrew his axe and summarily decapitated the beast as easy as he breathed.

 

It looked effortless as Adaar dusted off his hands. The man had barely even broken a sweat. And there, some massive creature of fear and torment and temptation lay dead at his feet.

 

It would have been maddeningly attractive if it weren’t for the reality of the situation. Adaar looked exhausted, dusty, and discontented.

 

“Adaar,” Dorian demanded, stomping his way up to him. “I won’t say I’m not glad to see you, but – “

 

Before he could finish the sentence, Adaar’s axe was raised and coming down – right on his head, apparently. Yelping, Dorian lurched off to the side. He landed on his ass. “ _What --?”_

 

Cuting him off again, Adaar swung at him once more. Dorian rolled to the side, feeling his heartbeat quicken. _Was Adaar really trying to hurt him?_ “What are you doing!?” His voice ripped from his throat.

 

“Stop talking!”

 

“You never complained of that before!” The fire shooting from his fingertips all but bounced off his lover, but it blinded his vision enough that Dorian could scramble to his feet again. “This is the warm reunion I get!? Thanks so very much, darling!”

 

“You’re not getting in my head! Stop trying!”

 

Suddenly, it all made sense.

 

Adaar thought that he, for whatever reason, was a demon. The way his lover was attempting to dispatch him … perhaps Dorian’s form had appeared in the Fade before.

 

That made sense. And was much better than Adaar having a change of heart and trying to kill him, anyway.

 

“ _Amatus,”_ he insisted, leaping again out of the way. “I know a demon would also say this, and I’ve got so much to – _grrk!”_ He had reeled out of the way of the axe, but not just enough. The tip of it just barely sliced the side of his neck, and Dorian felt bile rise in his throat. There was blood. Dorian dissipated his magic immediately. He dropped his staff to the ground and raised his hands up in surrender. “Can you listen to me for one bloody second!?”

 

It was enough to get Adaar to pause. Slowly, Dorian felt some blood trickle down his neck and stain the collar of his coat.

 

“Why aren’t you … defending yourself?”

 

“Because I’m a demon with evolving tactics. _No,_ Karaas, it’s just useless to fight with you and I’m not a daring man. I’m asking you to listen. I’m here. Me. Dorian.” His hands went to press against his own chest, exaggerating his point. There was one constancy among demons – survival. They went to defend themselves in times of danger.

 

His lover paused – before dropping his axe. Dorian visibly relaxed, going to heal the injury on the side of his neck with a bit of magic. When he pulled his hand away, it still came back wet. The injury hadn’t healed. Odd.

 

Before he could really manage it, though, Adaar was running forward and pulling him up in a massive, heartfelt bear hug.

 

He’d done it before. Dorian almost always kicked at him and tried to get down, _because he wasn’t a child, Adaar._ Now, though, Andraste preserve him, he giggled in delight as he was spun in the air like some starstruck debutante. Oh, how he’d _missed_ him!

 

“I’m so sorry _,”_ Adaar mourned, lowering him to inspect the cut on his neck. “I just – I’ve seen you before, here. And I couldn’t imagine you _really_ being in the Fade.”

 

“Think nothing of it. Just promise you won’t leave me for my flawed complexion.” Dorian meant it, too. The shock of having Adaar swing blows at him was waning quickly, replaced instead with the genuine, heartfelt surprise at seeing his lover again. And the despair at seeing him in such a place. His hands were flat on the Qunari’s chest, and Dorian drank in the sight of his face. The Fade seemed a lot more welcoming than before. “But what are you _doing_ here?”

 

“I fell in to escape a dragon. What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Examining ancient Tevinter mysteries. Yours sounds more thrilling.”

 

The way Adaar was looking at him made him feel a bit weak in the knees. It had been months since someone had looked at him with such affection, such adoration. Coated in Fade sand and exhausted as he was, he was still looking at him. Like that!

 

Adaar pulled him into a quick kiss. It wasn’t their best, objectively speaking, Adaar’s lips were chapped and Dorian needed to wash his face badly – but by the time Dorian pulled back, he felt like he’d be remembering that kiss on his deathbed. “I … I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

 

The grip Adaar had on him tightened, until he couldn’t comfortably move in his arms. For once, Dorian was okay with that.  “Dorian, if I had any say in it, I would’ve kept you at Skyhold. You believe that, don’t you?”

 

Dorian chuckled sadly.  “Of course I do. It’s why you’re terrible at politics.”

 

“I don’t care about politics.”

 

“You’re with the wrong organization, then, amatus.”

 

He felt Adaar press his face down towards the top of his hair. His lover was smiling. “I’m going to bring you back with me. I can’t just send you off again, Dorian, I can’t. Do you want to return?”

 

“ _Want?_ Of course I do, yes. But, as we’ve spoken, political suicide.”

 

“I’m saving their lives and their world. The least they can do is let you help.”

 

Adaar was upset, arguing with him would do no good. He could feel the man trembling in his grip from anger. Pulling his head away from him, Dorian insisted, “We’re not going to solve anything until we get out of here. We have time. You’ve gone too many months without me talking your horns off, as it is.” With that, Dorian turned and started to walk off.

 

Adaar caught him by the hand and pulled him close to dip him into a kiss.

 

His free hand brushed his cheek, and Dorian felt himself melting into the touch. The way he was looking at him was addicting, it truly was. Well, he was going to be bloody useless at finding their way out, now, his brain had unfortunately turned to pudding. When he pulled away and helped Dorian upright, the mage could only blink at Adaar stupidly. “I’m very lucky, Dorian.”

 

His faculties returned quickly. “I can’t say either of us are remarkably proficient at luck.”

 

“How many people can say they’ve got an actual hero rescuing them from the depths of the Fade?”

 

There it was. Dorian felt something catch in his throat, feeling thick. _This stupid ox._ He paused for a second, before breaking out into a nervous, tear-soaked titter. “You’ll be helping on that count, you know, I can’t be the knight in shining armor. It’s far too heavy, for one thing.”

 

Dorian wasn’t positive he hadn’t died. Or perhaps Adaar was the demon all along, coming to drive him crazy in the Fade. “I’ll pull my weight. We’re going to get out of this, Dorian. Together.”

 

He’d gotten in. Surely, if Corypheus passed through this way, there was also a way to get out. Dorian wasn’t going to give up now. “Of course we will. Dorian and Adaar, a team again. You’ve missed a lot, amatus. Shall I regale you with tales of my adventures since we last spoke?”

 

Getting their weapons situated, Adaar just took Dorian’s hand again and started to walk. “Consider me an eager listener.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't intend for this to be ~6,000 words ... but it is what it is. Thanks for all the appreciation, with all the turmoil of college, it really brightens my day!


	11. Crescendo

“I am not a mage, Leliana, why do you expect me to do magic?”

 

Ambassador Montilyet looked like she was on the edge. It was the middle of the night; they had been up and doing this since lunch. Josephine, Hawke, and Leliana all surrounded the table in her office. Hawke looked like he was two seconds away from nodding off to sleep. Leliana, on the other hand, seemed bright and alert.

 

“We are not looking for a perfect solution, Josie. The best one will do.”

 

“ _Best?”_ The harried woman gently swirled her drink in front of her. They all had drinks in front of them, poured with the consideration that it was going to be a long night. Leliana hadn’t touched hers. Hawke was on his third. “I struggle to find a ‘best’ that will not involve warfare with some country in Thedas. It was only on Redcliffe’s insistence that Ferelden didn’t attack us immediately. And Kirkwall would be on our doorstep, if they had the manpower.”

 

“I still like Varric’s suggestion,” Hawke murmured, brushing a hand across his face. “He’s gone off to fight the _evil_ blood mages.”

 

“And what? Cause havoc among the nobility about a clan of blood mages?” Josephine shot back. “Where will these proposed blood mages hide?”

 

“I’ve been to literally two countries, Ambassador, and one of them had quite a lot of blood mages in it. I’m sure you’d manage to do something.”

 

Letting out a disgusted noise, Josephine drained her glass. Leliana summarily filled it. “There is one other matter, Champion, that we wanted you here for.” She stoppered the decanter.

 

“I’ve managed to get your leader killed, I really think you can call me Garrett, now.”

 

He looked deep into his drink, the memories of lost loved ones clear in his eyes. Guilt was altogether not a helpful emotion in the running of the Inquisition, but, for a second, there could be a brief exception. “He’s not dead yet, Garrett,” Leliana insisted at him, going over and standing in front of the Ferelden. “There needs to be … a contingency plan, however.”

 

“A contingency? How do you mean?”

 

“It was always Seeker Cassandra and I’s intent that you be the Inquisitor, but Adaar filled that role well. As it happens, if a new Inquisitor is needed – “

 

If there had been drink left in his glass, Hawke would have spit it out. “ _Me!?_ No. Maker, no, have you all gone mad?”

 

“It was our original intent.”

 

“And obviously you didn’t know me all that well before then. Absolutely not. I led a half-dozen people and one of them managed to blow up a chantry behind my back.”

 

Sighing, Ambassador Montilyet tapped her quill against her parchment. “We will not force you, Champion, Seeker Cassandra would fill in the role perfectly well, if needed. But we thought with your charisma and your history, you would think it right to … step up, if it were.”

 

The guilt was working. Hawke leaned forward and placed his hands behind his neck, clearly thinking. He had never been a particularly religious person – really only went to the Chantry on holidays when Fenris dragged him – but if the Inquisition needed him, if the world needed him … Mark or no, he could at least lead people to their deaths with a really good joke.

 

“Leliana,” Hawke asked in a quiet voice. “Without the Inquisitor, what are our chances of surviving all this, anyway?”

 

The two advisors shared a look. They had gotten briefed on the future after Dorian and Adaar’s little adventure  – and although Maker knew how the future could be changed, they weren’t filled with brimming hope without him there. And this was the second time in so many months that they had to consider doing this without the Inquisitor.

 

Hawke took the silence as an answer. “So it doesn’t really matter, anyway, what I choose.” Sighing, Hawke shook his head and glanced up at the redhead. “Well – fine. If he doesn’t come back, give me the pointy sword. I’ll write a letter apologizing to Fenris.”

 

***

 

“You snuck into a Circle.” Adaar laughed as Dorian walked beside him. Occasionally he’d scout ahead, or Dorian would scout ahead, but sleep and food weren’t a problem they had to worry about, apparently. Impossible to tell how long they were walking, though. It felt like days. “I still can’t believe it.”

 

“You don’t corner the market on dangerously stupid ideas.” Chuckling nonetheless, Dorian shook his head. “Utterly terrifying. I knew they were savages, but I had no idea things were that bad.”

 

“Yeah. We took a contract in Kirkwall once, right before the rebellion broke out. I got robbed.”

 

“ _You_ got robbed?”

 

“Hey, I’m not messing around when someone points a staff at me.” Adaar settled an arm around Dorian’s shoulders as they walked the mountainous expanse. Worry had started to eat at him – what if they never found a way back? How would the Inquisition fare? What would they do?

 

“You’re worrying again. Don’t panic, amatus, we’ll find a way home. We just need another mirror. I know how to open it.”

 

“I – we passed a few back there, when it was the rest of the Inquisition and I, but I have no idea how to get back to them.” He had started to anxiously stroke Dorian’s shoulder as they walked, and his lover looked up at him. “Sorry.”

 

“No, but … we are going to be fine. We’re going to get you back to the Inquisition, and you’ll get a sound lecture from your advisors, and then we’re going to save the world.”

 

“I just wish they wouldn’t have to lecture. This is the second time in a few months that they’ve had to think about what would happen if I couldn’t hold my position. Maybe … “ Shaking his head, Adaar let out a sigh. “If I could just give someone else the mark, I’d – “

 

Dorian had just aimed a slap at Adaar’s shoulder when they heard a familiar voice cry out, “Inquisitor!”

 

Their heads snapped together as someone came over the nearest hill, and Adaar raised a hand in greeting when they saw who it was.

 

“Solas?” He dropped Dorian’s shoulder immediately, going over towards the elf. “Solas! What are you doing – “

 

As Adaar reached for him, his fingers passed through thin air where Solas’ shoulder would be. Dorian recognized it instantly – Solas was dreaming. Solas regarded the two with prim curiosity, although Adaar noted that he looked a little more tired than usual.

 

“Inquisitor,” Solas greeted, dipping his head towards him and then the mage. “Dorian. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

 

“I – it’s a long story.” Dorian placed a hand on the back of his neck. “It seems it’s the question of the day? What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Looking for the Inquisitor. Or, rather, answers that would lead me to the Inquisitor. I wouldn’t think I would be so lucky.” Adaar kept trying to touch Solas – first trying to tap Solas’ shoulder, then reaching for his arm, and finally taking a swing at Solas’ head. The long-suffering elf sighed. “Inquisitor, if you would?”

 

Dorian gave a slap on Adaar’s shoulder, who had the decency to look a bit ashamed.

 

“In any event,” Solas continued, “I happen to know the way back to the Eluvian in Skyhold.”

 

Adaar looked perplexed, but before any questions could be asked, Dorian interrupted, “We have an _Eluvian?_ In Skyhold? Since when? Who brought it?”

 

“The Orlesian ambassador.”

 

“Morrigan?” Adaar remarked, tilting to his head to the side. “She’s not Orlesian. Or an ambassador. Can one of you explain what an Eluvian is and why it’s important?”

 

“It’s a doorway, Inquisitor. I have no doubt that is how Dorian got here.”

 

“It’s true,” Dorian agreed. “There was one in Kirkwall that I used to get here.”

 

“You _used_ something that you weren’t one-hundred-percent sure could be used again?” Dorian gave a half-hearted shrug of indifference, before Adaar groaned and turned to Solas. “If that’s the case, Solas, I trust _your_ judgement. Lead the way.”

 

Dorian wanted to justify himself – that he, perhaps, hadn’t thought the plan through, but it was a noble plan indeed. A plan worth taking risks before.

 

Looking at Solas, it hit Dorian that the last thing he wanted was to prove his worth to the Inquisitor with Solas present. Their proclivity for privacy stemmed from more than an attempt to stifle gossip; Dorian was happy enough to control his own script in front of others, but he didn’t want to appear the emotionally helpless fool in front of others.

 

Cocking his staff in his arms, Dorian nodded in agreement. Solas nodded at both of them, before turning around and heading into the Fade gloom.

 

***

 

Elgar’s hand tightened as he approached Skyhold, his heart hammering a thousand miles in his chest. A month ago, he’d been resigned to, likely, becoming Tranquil one day after some imagined or real transgression. And now, he was staring up at a massive castle with his breath caught in his throat.

 

He was going to join the Inquisition. He was going to _mean_ something.

 

Staring up at the castle dumbly, however, he stood dumb. Something had never occurred to him before.

 

How was he going to get in?

 

Castles didn’t really have a big door at the entrance, like he’d imagined. It was more of a grate. And he didn’t have a banner or anything to announce himself; in his gray cloak, it was probably nearly impossible to see him against the mountains.

 

Going up to the wooden lattice, Elgar cleared his throat and called out into the seemingly empty space. The moon shown overhead, and already, the sky was so much larger and deeper than he’d imagined. He’d only gotten brief glimpses of it in the Circle, and he never expected it to stretch horizon to horizon.

 

There were a thousand other small realizations that he had had, and he’d been documenting them all faithfully.

 

“Um, sorry?” He called out again, reaching one hand through the grate. Should he set up camp and wait for the morning? There were people in the distance, milling around a fire, although his voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the howling wind in Skyhold. “Hello!”

 

An elf wearing bright yellow plaid walked by him, and as Elgar made a half-hearted swipe towards her to get her attention, she jumped a foot in the air and stepped back.

 

She dissolved into laughter.

 

“ _Andraste’s arse!_ I didn’t see you! You’re looking like a – like a big pebble, or something. What are you doing out there?”

 

“My name is Elgar,” he announced, pulling down his cloak to reveal his ears. Elves stuck together, didn’t they? That was the impression he’d gotten from the alienage, anyway. “I – “

 

“ _Elgar?_ Like _Elgar’nan?”_ The elf wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks, we don’t need any Dalish services. Bye.”

 

“I’m – I’m not even Dalish,” Elgar pleaded. “I was sent here to – to join the Inquisition, one of your members rescued me from a Circle?”

 

“From a Circle? You’re a mage?” Sera turned around, regarding him with suspicious curiosity. “Who got you out?”

 

“Dorian. Dorian Pavus. He said that I should join the Inquisition, to speak with the – “

 

Suddenly, like a cat, the elf had pounced onto the grating and was holding onto it a few feet above the ground. Elgar took a few steps back in shock.

 

“ _Dorian?_ You – we’ve been looking for Dorian!”

 

“Looking for him?”  Elgar looked confused. “But he said that he was sent on a mission. Wouldn’t you know where to … where you sent him?”

 

“Oh, shitstain.” Sighing, Sera looked down and popped off the lattice. “Hang on, let’s get you in. You’re gonna need to talk to Solas.”

 

***

The Fade had started to get cold.

 

Dorian hadn’t noticed at first, but after a while of walking, he felt himself pulling his cloak closer around him. Even farther, he started to shiver. Finally, it became enough of an issue that he looked up at Adaar to see if he was suffering, too.

 

His beard was thick with ice.

 

“Solas,” Adaar asked, brushing the ice from his beard. “Uh, is the cold normal?”

 

Solas looked behind them for a second, gauging them, before asking, “Roughly, how long have you both been in the Fade?”

 

“No more than a few days.”

“Weeks, maybe?”

 

Dorian and Adaar looked at each other in stunned silence as they each calculated in their minds how long, exactly, they’d been there. Dorian, himself, found no reason to change his estimate. Perhaps Adaar was wrong. Or perhaps they’d both gone entirely mad and time no longer meant anything.

 

“Ah.” Solas returned to walking, and Adaar looked put-out at not having his question answered. After a few minutes passed, though, Solas continued. “Mortal beings are not meant to be in the Fade physically at all. Most people do not survive it. Those who do survive in the Fade are not meant to be there for such a long time – in a word, your physical forms are … “ Solas seemed to debate a few terms in his mind. “Being rejected.”

 

“ _Rejected?”_ Dorian choked out. “Solas, please explain.”

 

“When the Veil split the waking world and the Fade, it …” Another consideration of words. “It aimed to keep living people out of the Fade. Demons and spirits there, only. That is why it is so difficult to pierce the Veil; however, as time elapses, the Veil’s attempts at forcing living beings out become more aggressive.”

 

“So it’s decided to freeze us out because we’re overstaying our welcome?” Dorian scoffed. “Surely it could decide that we actually do need food, or water, or – “

 

“Hang on. You’re going to have to slow things down for the non-mage here, you two. You’re talking about the Veil as if it’s a living being.”

 

That, Dorian considered, was a very good point. “It … isn’t a living being, though. It’s more of a – a wall. Isn’t it?”

 

Solas ignored them as he continued into the Fade. “As I’ve said, it will become more aggressive. But, no matter. We will be exiting soon, I seem to remember the eluvian being just over – “

 

They crested a hill and looked down. There, indeed, was the Eluvian. Dorian’s breath caught in his throat and he looked up at the Inquisitor, feeling his heart swell. Finally. It had felt like an age since he’d first entered into the Fade, and to exit soon … it was indescribable.

 

“But, Solas,” Adaar insisted, staring down at it blankly. “If the Veil wants us to leave – shouldn’t it be helping towards the Eluvian, instead of trying to kill us?”

 

“For those physically in the Fade, Inquisitor, death is a more pragmatic response –”

 

Just like that, Solas faded out of existence immediately. Dorian had to blink twice to make sure that he hadn’t suddenly gone blind. “Dorian, what happened?” Adaar asked, stepping to inspect the space where Solas had been.

 

“Er – a multitude of things, but most practically … he woke up.”

 

“Seriously?” Adaar sighed, looking towards the mirror. “I mean, we have the Eluvian, so there shouldn’t be any probl –”

 

The sound of the thick beating of wings came from overhead, and Dorian felt icy wind nearly buffet him to the ground. A titanic, stark white dragon came racing down on top of them. It seemed to hover in midair for a few seconds before landing directly in front of the mirror. This time, landing wind really did knock Dorian off his feet, and he felt Adaar catch him.

 

“Why did you have to _say_ that,” Dorian groaned as the dragon turned to look at them. Covered in thick, icy spikes, the dragon seemed to know what it was hunting immediately. “Fade dragons! Since when did Fade dragons exist!?”

 

They both stood there in shock at the massive creature blocking the mirror. Adaar slowly slid his axe from his back, and Dorian preemptively cast a ward around them. The dragon cracked open its jaw and, revealing dark blue insides, spat a massive storm of ice their way.

 

***

“Solas!”

 

Sera was shaking the elf by the left leg. In mild confusion and fear, Elgar stood by the doorway of the room. This elf had dragged him into the castle, had marched with him right into the front palace, into the library, and now into this sleeping man’s quarters. He had thought it would feel less sneaky than this.

 

Sera tugged the elf so hard that his lower body slid off the bed. The rudely-woken elf didn’t have time to catch himself, but instead clung to the shoulder of his nightstand for dear life as he righted himself.

 

“ _You infuriating –”_ The elf hissed at Sera, and Elgar stepped forward to stop him.

 

“Don’t – she was just trying to wake you!”

 

“ _That’s exactly the problem!”_

“Pissypants,” Sera informed him impatiently. Pissypants sent her a dark look and pushed himself back onto his bed. He was dressed in simple traveler’s clothes, and a wolf-jaw pendant rested on the nightstand. Other than that, there were very few possessions in the room. “I found someone who knows where Dorian is.”

 

His jaw was set as he shot a death look towards Sera. “Fenedhis lasa, I _found_ Dorian.”

 

“You’re not serious.” Sera gestured towards the bed. “Sleeping here?”

 

“How many times have I told you about my travels through the Fade while I sleep!?”

 

“Sorry to step in!” Elgar waved his hand towards the elf. “But did you say that you – found Dorian? And you travelled through the Fade? I’m just curious, er – “

 

“And who is _this!?”_ The elf demanded, gesturing one hand towards Elgar in the corner. Elgar shrank back into the wall. “You’ve woken me up, dragged a strange elf into my room, and now you’ve ruined my plan to retrieve the Inquisitor!”

 

“Shit. Hang on. Solas, Elgar, Elgar, Solas.” Sera made rapid hand gestures between the two.

 

Some of Solas’ anger dissipated, replaced by stern confusion. “Elgar? Not as in – “

 

“I, um, my mum named me after him because she was feeling a … bit angry, I think, at her circumstances,” Elgar finished lamely, intimidated.

 

“You would be cast out and exiled by the Dalish, if you were in a clan,” Solas told him harshly, before turning towards Sera. “Why have you brought this boy into my quarters?”

 

“He says that Dorian saved him from the Kirkwall Circle. You’ve been going on about needing Dorian’s expertise to retrieve the Inquisitor from the Fade –”

 

“I _found_ Dorian and the Inquisitor in the Fade. Together.” Solas groaned, leaning back on his bed again. “We managed to find the Eluvian leading here. Hopefully, they should be here … soon. I’m sure we’ll be alerted.”

 

“Dorian’s in the Fade?” Elgar cut in again. “So the Eluvian in Kirkwall worked?”

 

“Dorian was in Kirkwall?” Solas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kirkwall, who has repeatedly made threats to take arms against us, if they weren’t so indisposed. For a man of high class, he has no sense of diplomacy.”

 

“No sense of diplomacy?” Even if he had only known  Dorian a short time, Elgar felt protective over him. “You sent him there! Er, sir,” he added oddly. “The Inquisition did, anyway.”

 

“What?” Sera climbed onto Solas’ bed, to which Solas sent her a sharp glare. “The Inquisition didn’t send him anywhere but _away.”_ Sighing, she fidgeted with her hair for a second. “He, uh, there was this whole thing where he used blood magic to protect all of us, and –“

 

Elgar felt like his heart had stopped for a second. A blood mage. A blood mage had protected and rescued him, a blood mage had been the one to get him out of Kirkwall, a _blood mage_ had _touched_ him. He felt very cold for a few seconds, staring down at the floor.

 

Solas sighed, pushing himself up to a standing position. “If they have any competency at all, they should be rejoining us momentarily. Let’s go alert Josephine that we will be re-inviting our Inquisitor and our exilee into our midst.”

 

***

The beast whipped its head around back and forth, eking out a deep roar. Adaar was firmly positioned on its back, doing his best to decapitate it through its thick scales. He was making small headway, chipping away at the creature. Shards of frozen water gleaned off it, nearly immediately melting onto the Fade ground below.

 

The dragon was made of ice.

 

They had discovered it when Dorian had first burned the creature, a portion of its icy scales melting away at the touch. Although a very obvious weakness, the creature was still thick enough that eroding it away with fire was a difficult task, indeed. Hence Adaar performing his best woodsman impression by hacking away at it.

 

“The dragon’s neck is the weakest point! If you just – _get off_ it, Adaar!”

 

“If I get off it,” Adaar growled back at him, “Then it’s going to go after you!”

  
Indeed, the dragon’s attention was too focused on the troublesome Qunari digging at him than shooting ice at the human below. Still, above the neck was moving too quick to reliably hit and any space below the neck was covered by his lover’s arse. It was frustrating, and so, he aimed at the heart. Perhaps he’d be lucky and melt it.

 

The surrounding ground became wet and muddy from the melting creature, and Dorian felt his boots sink with every step. He had to pull his shoes out of the ground whenever he moved, and he felt like he was a very slow target indeed.

 

“Shit – shit shit shit – “

 

“Adaar?”

 

Dorian looked up to see his lover slipping from the dragon’s neck. The melting ice had weakened his grip considerably, and, taking advantage, the dragon slung him into the mud. Adaar sank an inch down into it.

 

Dorian tried to pull himself out of the muck to go over to him. He was alright – he had already fallen hard enough to break anything – but the instinctual urge to protect Adaar was hard to override.

 

His boots weren’t coming out. They were stuck, and he was stuck by extension.

 

Dorian’s heart stopped as the dragon advanced towards him, and the creature’s maw opened up. Dorian could see the sleek blue inside of the mouth, and immediately, he conjured a ward. Immediately, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

 

His eyes were focused on the creature so intently that he didn’t see Adaar pull himself up and start running.

 

The spike of ice that ejected itself from the dragon’s mouth was long, pointed, and Dorian didn’t have the time to cast something else to try and immobilize it. Instead, he could only stand in helplessness it flung towards him.

 

Suddenly, Adaar was blocking his vision, leaping in front of him and knocking him to the side in the process. His boots were free.

 

Dorian pushed himself up to stand as the dragon recovered, and he saw Adaar lying to the ground behind him.

 

The ice spike was still sticking out of his chest, blood pooling into the spongy earth around him. He didn’t appear to be breathing. In a second, Dorian was sure in his heart that he had lost the only man he had ever truly loved.

 

With fire in his eyes, Dorian turned back towards the dragon.

 

It was unwise – foolish, really – to use so much of his magic ability so quickly. Nobody could control the consequences, and to be so spent from lack of magic was generally not recommended.

 

At that moment, however, Dorian couldn’t care much if he lived or died – much less if his magic stores were feeling a bit empty.

 

 _“Fucking demon!”_ Dorian half-screamed, his voice sounding hysterical to his own ears. Thrusting his staff in front of him, Dorian conjured up a ray of fire so intense that he heard the jewel in his staff shatter into pieces.

 

All his magic left him in one second, but the fire had its effect. It hit the dragon from head to chest, melting the creature’s upper quarter in one fell swoop. It fell, hideously misshapen, to the Fade floor and did not move.

 

Casting his staff to the side, Dorian fled towards his lover and dropped to his knees.

 

His hand went towards the spike sticking out of him, grasping at it. It was then that he realized that the fire had burned his hands, and the spike melted quickly and easily under his grasp. Still, the damage was done. A small trickle of blood spilled out of Adaar’s mouth.

 

“Dorian,” he choked, trying to sit up and failing miserably. More blood gushed out of his chest at the movement. Dorian gagged. “Dorian, the Eluvian – “

 

“No, let me – if I can just – “ Dorian’s hands went flat on Adaar’s chest to heal him, but he was utterly spent. His body shuddered and shook with the effort, but he could not heal his lover at all. “ _No!”_

 

“There’s not much time – “ Adaar coughed again, and Dorian blinked wildly at him. _No. This wasn’t happening._ “You’ve got to _go.”_

 

“ _No._ No, fuck you, you can’t order me to … _leave_ you.” His voice trembled and broke, and Dorian shook his head. “No. Come here. You’re coming along.”

 

“Too … heavy.”

 

To hell with that. Dorian slung Adaar’s shoulder of his arms. The man groaned pathetically with the movement. With phenomenal effort on his part, Dorian slowly pushed himself up to stand. His knees cracked with the effort, and Dorian thought in the back of his harried mind that he wasn’t exactly old enough for his knees to be cracking when he stood.

 

“ _Crazy,”_ Adaar grumbled, half in his ear. Dorian took a trembling step.

 

“You can’t possibly be asking me to – _no._ No, Adaar, shut _up,_ we’re going to get you help. You’re going to be fine.”

 

Blood dripped with every step they took, and Dorian knew he wouldn’t be able to go far. He made it up to the mirror. With his shaking hand, Dorian attempted the spell to activate it. It failed.

 

Adaar collapsed against him. Dorian stumbled with the sudden dead weight. “ _No,_ you bastard,” Dorian accused him, willing his hands to still. “No, I will not allow it, you are not – _dying.”_ His voice was thick, a sob threatening to escape.

 

On the second try, the spell worked. The mirror shimmered to life and Dorian forced himself and Adaar through.

 

***

 

Nobles and commoners alike gossiped in the main hall of Skyhold. Candles flickered in their holders all along the hall as they ate and drank, but nonetheless, there was an air of suspicion and fear. Had people bet on the wrong horse? The second time the Inquisitor had been absent in a few months; how could they possibly trust him to save the world?

 

Josephine had strategically placed members of the Inquisition at various points in the Main Hall. Dorian’s absence was a pity – Tevinter aside, he was quite charming. Nonetheless, Solas (who had been looking fairly nervous, although hadn’t mentioned why), Varric, Vivienne, and Bull were chatting amongst the party. The new mage recruit, Elgar, was holding a glass of wine with a vice grip.

 

Things were going to go fine, Josephine told herself.

 

This was her area. And things could be worse, potentially.

 

If Sera knicked another nobleman’s purse by the end of the night, though, Josephine was going to strip off her knickers and dance to an Antivan drinking song in the middle of the main hall.

 

“Everyone,” she greeted above the din. She was standing just in front and to the side of the throne. It wouldn’t do to sit in it, that was not her place, but the side was just fine. “It is quite the honor to have your attendance today concerning the Inquisitor. I understand that there has been some concern as to his whereabouts, given his absence in Skyhold.”

 

Above the main hall, on the second story landing, Josephine saw Cole’s feet move from the banister and vanish. Hm.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive my inability to be forthright with all details, considering the sensitivity of the assignment. However, a group of people known to be sympathetic to Corypheus’ efforts was found congregating. The Inquisitor, as well as a few of our soldiers, were sent to diffuse the situation. We refrained from announcing this initially, due to the concern of the group becoming aware of the movement and taking action early.”

 

“But where is he, Ambassador?” A particularly cocky diplomat from Orlais asked.

 

“We cannot reveal that information without compromising the safety of our Inquisition.”

 

“When will he return?”

 

“We cannot give exact details for the same reason; however, we don’t anticipate it to be longer than a few months.’

 

“Is the Inquisition safe while he is away?”

 

Josephine chuckle at that. “Of course. The Inquisition is more than capable of defending itself, should the need arise.”

 

Solas made a concerned look towards the door to the garden, and Josephine found herself raising an eyebrow.

 

“As it stands, if there are any further questions, I would be happy to assist if – “

 

And suddenly, like a reoccurring nightmare, the door to the garden flung open. The entirety of the noble party gasped and moved backward in one unit, away from the door.

 

“Get a surgeon!” Dorian shouted out, looking positively wrecked as he stumbled through. Adaar, pale and limp, was slung over his shoulders. The weight of him made Dorian hunch over. His clothes were stained with water and dust and he was covered in mild injuries. That, though, didn’t compare to Adaar. Adaar was dripping blood on the floor, and Josephine was horrified to discover that it was dripping from his mouth. “Help the Inquisitor!”

 

Bull went forward, taking the weight off Dorian and flinging Adaar’s shoulder over his arm. It was Vivienne that got to Adaar first, hands going to his shoulder. A green glow emanated from her hands as Adaar was dragged away from the main hall.


	12. To Dream

“If you start reciting the Chant of Light again, I’m going to fling myself off the bloody balcony.”

 

“Is that supposed to encourage me to stop, Sera?”

 

That was what Adaar was greeted with when he finally opened his eyes. Birds were chirping, too close to be outside. They had probably nested just outside the doors, up in the rafters of Skyhold. Mostly fine, other than the mess and the occasional broken egg on the stone below.

 

His eyes were blurred for a second, but Adaar’s shifting had clearly alerted his bedside friends.

 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra leaned forward, inspecting his face as if there were something there. “It’s good to see you among the land of the living.”

 

“You _fuck,_ you made us think that you were – “ Sera had gotten into fighting stance, prepared to punch Adaar solidly in the shoulder, but Cassandra’s hand shot forward to snatch the elf’s wrist.

 

“Not. Now.”

 

“I’m glad to see you both,” Adaar remarked weakly, chuckling as he propped himself up on his elbows. There were bandages wrapped thickly around abdomen. It felt … uncomfortably tight, although that was probably as much a side-effect from the magic than anything else. “But please don’t kill each other over my bedside.”

 

Sera stuck her tongue out at Cassandra and wrestled her arm away, before throwing her arms around Adaar’s neck in a tight hug. Cassandra chose the slightly-more-appropriate method of placing her hand on Adaar’s wrist.

 

“Don’t _ever_ get stuck in the Fade again.”

 

“Not without bringing you with me.”

 

“Fuck that, you _know_ that’s not what I meant.” Sera kept clinging onto him and Adaar was grateful for that. He had _missed_ Sera, and Cassandra, and Varric, and everyone else in the entirety of Skyhold who he’d never thought he’d see again. Raising his free arm, Adaar patted her shoulder.

 

“Promise. Won’t ever get stuck in the Fade again. How is everything doing?”

 

Cassandra cleared her throat, and Sera made a grumbling noise before finally letting go of her friend. “Everything has been proceeding well. Most of the nobles have left, upon promises that they will receive word when you’ve recovered.”

 

“I didn’t cause a scene, did I?”

 

Sera giggle-snorted, and Cassandra continued. “I … perhaps.”

 

“Sorry, _perhaps?_ Dorian dragging you into the middle of a group of nobles shouting for help is just a _perhaps_ scene?”

 

Adaar could picture it visibly, and deflated back onto the pillows. So much for instilling confidence in the people.

 

“It is alright. Josephine smoothed it out as much as she could. Things are relatively quiet, now.”

 

“Won’t be for long.” Adaar sighed, reaching up and tugging at one horn. “Mind getting me some paper and some ink? I think I have to write some letters.”

 

“Oh, Adaar, _come on,”_ Sera sighed, half-collapsing onto his bed. “Do you have to work _now?_ You’ve just woken up.”

 

“For once, I … agree with Sera.” The Seeker seemed surprised at herself. “ You need your rest, Inquisitor. Why not simply read, or … “

 

Adaar promised, “I won’t exert myself too much by writing a few letters to people. Won’t even get out of the bed.”

 

Cassandra considered this, before sighing and pulling herself up. “If you say. I may go inform the advisors. Sera?”

 

Sera looked loathe to get up, but eventually pushed herself up. “I’ll go get some ale,” she promised, “And something from the kitchens.”

 

Usually, Adaar wasn’t going to fight at such an open invitation. Sera rarely offered to do anything for anyone. She must really have been worried, he figured. “I’ll be okay, Whizz. Go spread the news that I’m up and about, okay?”

 

Hesitating for a second, Cassandra eventually nod before they took their leave. As the door shut behind them, Adaar didn’t even think to ask about Dorian.

***

 

“My dear Elgar!”

 

Dorian had never been one to wait around in a sickroom, even one that contained his lover in it. Although he had spent a decent amount of time watching Adaar heal, he had soon departed to find something to take his mind off it. He would be informed if Adaar woke, he told himself, even if he kept making nervous glances to the balcony of Adaar’s quarters.

 

Josephine had made a quick announcement as soon as they’d gotten Dorian settled, taking advantage of an opportunity. Dorian’s exile status had been revoked. She had remarked that Dorian’s blood mage status was clearly temporary and unwanted influence of a demon, and that he had since proved himself by slaughtering all the blood mages that the Inquisitor had been seeking and dragging him back to save his life. If it were not for Dorian Pavus, Josephine had concluded, the Inquisition would surely be destroyed.

 

A few of the nobles were skeptical, still, but Dorian had smirked at all the warm apologies he’d received.

 

At least, the new announcement had let him walk around freely. That was where he’d caught sight of the mage-boy, Elgar.

 

“It’s so good to finally see you. I’m glad to see you’ve come to Skyhold safely.” He approached him, but Elgar’s face was withdrawn. “What’s the matter? The Inquisition not everything you’ve expected? It’s hardly the life of luxury, but – “

 

“You lied, Dorian,” Elgar accused, finally turning around to face him. Betrayal lined his young face. “You said – you said that the Inquisition had sent you to Kirkwall on a mission, and then I found out that you’re a blood mage –”

 

“No.” Dorian cut him off, throwing one finger in his voice. He looked over his shoulder and added in a fierce whisper, “Let us get this straight, Elgar. I am not a magister, I am a mage. I am not a librarian, I am an archivist. I am not a blood mage, I have performed blood magic.”

 

“You’re a blood mage if you’ve performed blood magic,” Elgar complained at him, looking petulant.

 

“The circumstances. Were they explained to you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I apologize if you’ve never had someone you cared for, and never had the opportunity to perform rash opportunities for someone you cared for, and never had the opportunity to receive consequences on behalf of _someone you care for!”_ Dorian’s voice rose until he was half-shouting in the deserted library. He could only blink at himself in surprise. Was he _still_ touchy about it, after all these months?

 

That seemed to hit something deep within Elgar, and he looked down like a kicked puppy. Dorian sighed, guilt seeping in.

 

“That … was unworthy. I apologize.” And he did feel bad about it, truly. “I simply had no other option at the time, Elgar, without seeing the death of everyone I care for on Thedas. It will not happen again.”

 

Elgar seemed to sulk for a few minutes longer, sorting books that didn’t really need to be sorted. Dorian sighed again, leaning against the bookcase to face him. “And here I was, pleased to bits to see you at Skyhold.”

 

“You were pleased to see the Inquisitor,” Elgar moped, poking through Dorian’s charms like a needle. “You used me to get what you wanted in the Circle.”

 

“I would not have gotten you out of there if I despised you, Elgar, I’m not that noble.” Sighing, Dorian dropped his façade and spoke openly. Elgar seemed more annoyed than truly upset. “Pout if you’d like and I won’t blame you. But I was going to offer to tutor you in magic for the time being. You need the lessons if you’re going to be a half-decent fighter.”

 

That perked Elgar up considerably. Accusations of blood magic aside, Dorian had the very sad feeling that Elgar had mostly been ignored here. Perhaps a little company would be good for the lad.

 

 “And I will teach you,” Dorian promised. “As soon as the Inquisitor wakes and we sort out that inevitable political nightmare, we’ll start with fire magic.”

 

“What should I do in the meantime?” Elgar asked with bright eyes, anger forgotten. “To help the Inquisition?”

 

He was glad the lad had thrown himself into the Inquisition’s cause so blindly. Dorian recognized the feeling. After seeing the Inquisitor fight for the first time, he had laid down in his cot that night and knew that he would probably due in pursuit of this goal. The thought didn’t frighten him as much as it should have.

Clearly.

 

“You like libraries, don’t you?” Dorian gestured over to the tower in the main hall. “Go to the larger library there and try to find anything on the Imperium for me. I do get _so_ homesick sometimes.”

 

Elgar’s bad mood seemed to disappear, and he went to go cross outside of the room. In the doorway, however, he paused. “Thank you again,” he remarked earnestly. “And, um, tell the Inquisitor that I hope he gets well soon. I’d like to meet him in person.”

 

“I’ll ensure it,” Dorian promised, before Elgar walked out and Dorian was left alone in the library.

 

***

 

When Adaar woke up again, he was alone.

 

At first, he panicked – it was dark, he could hardly see, and perhaps he had died, somehow, in his sleep, he hadn't actually been that lucky after all. Finally, though, his eyesight adjusted. A dying candle was on his nightstand, letting dim shadows dance along the wall.

 

For whatever reason, when he woke, he could only remember Sera’s words – Dorian had carried him in, had asked for people to help him, had risked his own life in the process.

 

Adaar was pretty sure he’d never feel more love for a living being.

 

Pushing himself up, Adaar grunted with the overwhelming stiffness and soreness of his abdomen, still. Things healed too quickly, the scarring wasn’t quite right, and he was sure that he’d be bleeding tomorrow as a result of it. Regardless, he felt like he was getting sorer just from resting in bed.

 

Still, he wanted to look around at the place he was so sure he’d never see again. Adaar lit a lantern and went out to the balcony in his nightclothes, peering off the side of it. It must have been late; he couldn’t see anyone out in the grounds. Even the lantern that lit up Commander Cullen’s office was out.

 

The childish side of him wanted to wake Josephine up and demand an explanation as to everything that had happened. Cassandra’s explanation had been fine, but Adaar’s mind drifted to thoughts of his lover. Where was Dorian, had he gotten him help, did Josephine alert everyone that everything was alright?

 

Looking up at the stars, Adaar found no answer. In his mercenary company, he’d learned how to keep time with the sky. His name did mean navigator, after all. Now, though, he had no answers. At least the Rift was probably still in the sky, somewhere.

 

“You ought to be laying down, amatus.”

 

A thrill went through Adaar as he turned around to see Dorian in his nightclothes with a candle in his hand. He hadn’t even heard Dorian come in.

 

“You’re standing there like a beacon, you know, inviting any wandering scoundrel to come into your quarters,” Dorian continued, extinguishing his candle with a wave of his hand and walking forward. “Already putting yourself in danger again?”

 

“I don’t know, a wandering scoundrel just came into my quarters and it’s working out well so far.” Reaching forward, Adaar let his hand rest on Dorian’s hip. “Are you sure you should be walking out in the open, Dorian?”

 

“You haven’t been told? How lovely, _I_ get to tell you.” Dorian leaned against his chest in a way that made Adaar want to sweep him up and spin him around. In his present condition, though, that was not recommended. “I’m pleased to admit that I’ve been granted a full pardon. Apparently carting a near-dead Inquisitor home is the way to get back in everyone’s good graces.”

 

Adaar choked for a second, spluttering as he looked down at him. “Dorian, I – that’s fantastic!”

 

“Thank you. I’m very pleased about it myself.” His eyes twinkled at him. “It would have been terribly anticlimactic for me to just be sent away again.”

 

Slumping forward, Adaar twisted his arms around Dorian’s torso to hold him close. Although they had been in the Fade physically, Dorian somehow felt more real, here. He could feel his heartbeat under his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin. Dorian put a bit of oil on himself every night to keep his skin smooth ( or … something, Adaar’s brain had shortcircuited around then) and Adaar smelled wildflowers.

 

“I wasn’t encouraging you to lay down so I could make a dramatic entrance, Kaaras. You’re going to start bleeding again.”

 

“I’m probably going to bleed anyway.” Still, Adaar removed himself from him to go return to his bed. Dorian was right, as always. He felt weak, and the soft bed was welcome. It would be hard, after all this, to go back to mercenary bedrolls. Beds were good. “Stay?”

 

“I’ve got no intentions to leave this time.” As Adaar laid on his side, his lover joined him Dorian seemed to inspect his wounds for a second, dipping down under the covers and casting a spell of light, but soon resurfaced. “Good. I suppose I’m not the only mage here capable of performing a healing spell.”

 

Adaar felt speechless for a second at the small, caring act, just overwhelmed with total affection and love for the man who had saved his life. “I’m so lucky to know you, Dor.” It was a nickname he had used perhaps a half-dozen times since knowing him, and never in public. Dorian looked at him with surprise for a second … and then allowed it with a smile.

 

“Anyone’s lucky to merely be in my presence. Your record implies you have godly favor, with the stunts you walk away from.”

 

“I don’t even know how you got me out of the Fade. I’m – what, twice your weight?”

 

“That _is_ the reason why I wasn’t waiting in your bed, waiting for you to ravish me when you woke up. I’m still quite sore from that little excursion across the Veil. And your injuries, of course, preclude it.”

 

“Wait until I’m back at full health?” Adaar joked weakly. He cupped the back of Dorian’s head, letting his fingers dig into his hair. For once, Dorian allowed it. “I mean it, Dorian. Through all of this, you’ve acted … like the man I want to be. Not complaining, not wallowing, just saving the day.”

 

The shadows still danced over his quarters. Outside, all Adaar could hear was crickets and the occasional owl hoot. A pleasing mountain air blew in through the open door, and it felt like it was just two of them in the entirety of Skyhold. In Thedas.

 

In front of him, he saw Dorian’s eyes go a little glassy. Or was it … no, Dorian wasn’t crying, was he? He had cried the last time he’d seen him in Skyhold, too, when they were saying goodbye. Adaar suddenly felt like he had said a very wrong thing. Something cold whistled down his spine.

 

“I – that’s not true at all, you ignorant idiot,” Dorian told him, covering his thick voice with biting words. “You’re the hero. You’re the Inquisitor. We all ought to bow and lavish attention upon you daily, we ought to write down your strategy so future generations can study, we ought to –” He cut himself off; Adaar saw his chin quivering. “ _You’re_ who I aim to emulate. Selfless, and stubborn, and valiant.”

 

Adaar felt like they were on the precipice of falling into a circular argument – but he wasn’t sure Dorian would be able to handle it much longer. Hell, Adaar wasn’t sure he could. His nose crinkled to stave off any emotion and he brought Dorian’s head closer so he could kiss him.

 

Maker, but did he care for the man in his arms. He admired him, and Dorian admired him in return, and Adaar was positive that by virtue of his company, Dorian had made him a better man.

 

The knowledge that Dorian was there to stay hit him, then. He wouldn’t be losing him to politics or intrigue or anything like that – right there, Dorian was in his bed, and they didn’t have to fear anything but the end of the world.

 

It was a good place to be.

 

“I love you,” Adaar promised.

 

Dorian’s head shot up immediately as Adaar spoke, eyes growing wide in panic. The action temporarily loosened the rest of his façade, and the tears that had been gathering at the edges of his eyes promptly spilled down. For a second, Adaar was afraid Dorian was going to flee.

 

“ _Bastard,”_ Dorian spat, reaching forward and thumping his fist against Adaar’s chest once. “You’re trying to rend me, is that it? Break me to bits and pieces so I’m a blubbering mess?”

 

Adaar chuckled, a deep noise in the bottom of his chest. “You’ve got me.”  

 

His face shoved against Adaar’s shoulder, just clutching him close by his nightshirt. Adaar comforted him, lowering his hands so that he was crushing Dorian against him, breathing heavily. One of Dorian’s hands was holding him by the horn, keeping his head down. “I love you,” Adaar repeated, grinning.

 

Dorian groaned.

 

“Thank you for saving me from the Fade. And from myself in Empruise du Lion. And every time before that, and everytime that’ll probably happen in the future.”

 

“Thanks for _saving the whole of Thedas,_ you stu – “ Dorian sighed, pulling away so he could pull himself together. “I never thought that I’d … have this. I never even thought it would be something to aim for.”

 

“I don’t think most people go through what we’ve been through, as a guess.”

 

Dorian barked out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “No happy ending for us, Kaaras.”

 

“Let’s not go that far.” Adaar moved so that Dorian was lying on top of him, despite Dorian worrying about his injuries again. He wiggled uncomfortably away from his bandages, and Adaar rolled his eyes at him. “There might be one yet. So long as I still have you in my life, that’s pretty good.”

 

Dorian considered him for a second, before nodding. “A low bar, amatus, but let’s hope we’ll cross it.” He yawned against his chest, settling in. “You have a mage to meet tomorrow. I mentioned him to you, in the Fade. Elgar.”

 

“Yeah? Should I sign something of his?”

 

“No, but if you could perhaps wax poetic on the best mage in the Inquisition, that would be decent of you.”

 

“Why would I talk about Solas in front of him?”

 

Giggling, Adaar wriggled out of the way of a teasing jab in his shoulder. Already, he felt the giddy exhaustion settle into him. He was tired, and yet, he wanted to stay up with Dorian for hours. Probably not conducive to work. “I’ll have to meet up with everyone else tomorrow, won’t I?”

 

“Most likely. Apologies in advance on that.”

 

“I have to talk with the ambassador from Kirkwall, and Bull’s gonna be furious, and I’ll have to explain to Cole ….” Adaar sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s going to be a long day, Dorian.”

 

“Which is why you should sleep.”

 

Adaar’s eyes began to fall shut. “Don’t want to.”

 

“Petulant,” his lover sighed, pulling himself up to kiss him again. Adaar’s hands settled in the small of his back perfectly. “I love you, Kaaras. Until the last stone of the Imperium falls down around me, I will always love you.”

 

It had been said before, but now, without the looming threat of Dorian’s disappearance, it no longer filled him with anxiety. Just contentment and adoration.

 

Dorian’s head settled on his collarbone, hair just tickling the bottom of Adaar’s chin. Adaar’s arms loosely held Dorian against him. One twitch of Dorian’s fingers had the candle on the nightstand snuffed out, and then they were alone in darkness.

 

Sleeping with someone in the dark felt so much more comforting than facing it alone.

 

There was another kiss pressed against Dorian’s forehead, and then, Adaar let his head fall back onto the pillow.

 

Sleeping alone for months had been a small but unwelcome part of his life. He wouldn’t complain about it to anyone, as small and pathetic as it was, but it filled him with no small joy to have someone in his arms again. With the thoughts of the end of the world miles away and thoughts of how much he loved the mage in his arms dead on, Adaar dropped into satisfied sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, everyone! I know the schedule was a bit odd recently, but you'll have to forgive me on that. Thank you so much for your kind words; it really does mean a lot and I'm very grateful for it! It's been a lovely month-and-a-few-weeks spent with you all, and thank you again!


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